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PALMER  PLAN   HANDBOOK 


PHOTOPLAY  WRITING 

Simplified  and  Explained 
By  FREDERICK  PALMER 

A  PRACTICAL  TREATISE  ON 
SCENARIO  WRITING  AS  PRACTICED 
AT  LEADING  MOTION  PICTURE 
STUDIOS,  WITH  CROSS-REFER- 
ENCES TO   SUCCESSFUL  EXAMPLES 


INCLUDING  A  CURRENT  GLOS- 
SARY OF  TECHNICAL  AND  SEMI- 
TECHNICAL  WORDS  AND  PHRASES, 
COPYRIGHT  LAWS,  RULES  OF  THE 
NATIONAL  BOARD  OF  CENSORS, 
ETC. 


No.   L  iv'O 


REVISED    EDITION 


PUBLISHED,  1920,  BY 

PALMER  PHOTOPLAY  CORPORATION 

LOS  ANGELES,  CAL. 
"FILM  CAPITAL  OF  THE  WORLD" 


Copyright,  1920 

Paluek  Photoplay  Cobposatioh 

Los  Angelbs 

All  Rights  Restrved 


i 


77775^ 


Theatre  Arts 
library 

too.  "2- 
TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

Part  Onb 

Page 

INTRODUCTION 13 

Who  will  write  the  photoplays  of  the  future;  the  birth  of  motion  pictures; 
an  infant  art;  trained  writers  needed;  published  material  undesirable;  a  per- 
sonal message. 

CHAPTER  1 17 

Photoplay  Writing — A  New  Art. 

A  separate  technique;  the  early  days;  vast  demand  for  stories;  no  mystery; 
producers  do  not  steal  stories;  analyzing  mistakes;  from  failure  to  success; 
an  equal  opportunity. 

CHAPTER   n 22 

Action. 

Photoplays  built  of  action,  not  words;  most  novels  not  adaptable;  a  concrete 

example;  violence  unnecessary. 

CHAPTER  III 25 

Characterization. 

Studying  human  characteristics;  sources  of  character;  plot  growth  from 
characterization ;  characteristics  expressed  in  action ;  establishing  characters ; 
undivided  interest;  picturesque  values. 

CHAPTER  IV : 32 

Situation. 

Situation,  climactic  and  contributory;  a  striking  example;  a  melo-dramatic 

situation;  the  comedy  drama  angle;  straight  comedy;  specimen  situations. 

CHAPTER  V 37 

Theme. 

An  endless  supply;  struggle  and  conflict;  drama  close  at  hand;  the  pictorial 

and  dramatic. 

CHAPTER  VI 40 

Material. 

New  treatment  of  old  themes;  a  story  germ;  benefits  of  reading;  thinking  for 

yourself ;  life  and  art. 

CHAPTER  VII 43 

Suspense. 

Suspense  in  every-day  life ;  suspense  the  outgrowth  of  doubt ;  well-balanced 

conflict ;  the  apex  of  suspense  in  climax ;  maintaining  doubt. 

CHAPTER  VIII 47 

Unity. 

Unity  of  place;  unity  of  time;  unity  of  action. 

CHAPTER  IX 51 

O)NTRinUT0RY    FACTION'S. 

The  dramatic  triad;  the  three  corners;  two  examples;  the  triad  in  comedy; 
factional  groups. 

S 


Part  Two 

Page 

CHAPTER  X 55 

Visualization. 

The  culture  of  imagination ;  progress  through  practice ;  the  monarch  mind ; 
banish  mental  laziness;  imagination  conquers  all;  keynote  of  photoplay  writ- 
ing; Columbia  University  tests;  other  exercises. 

CHAPTER  XI 60 

DeMille's  Rules. 

Nine  stor>'  requirements;  ten  reasons  for  rejection;  DeMille's  rules  ampli- 
fied and  explained. 

CHAPTER  Xn 66 

Other  Values. 

Motive;  probability;  love  interest;  heart  interest;  the  cheerful  element;  un- 
divided interest;  advanced  characterization;  the  human  touch;  the  doctrine 
of  Nemesis ;  the  happy  ending ;  recoil ;  economy ;  mysterj'. 

CHAPTER  Xni 75 

Drama. 

Sequence  of  incidents  insufficient ;  crisis  the  heart  of  drama ;  some  examples. 

CHAPTER  XIV 77 

Comedy. 

Contributory  factions ;  comedy  punch ;  recoil  and  suspense ;  fun  in  action. 

CHAPTER  XV 80 

Evolving  a  Plot. 

The  beginning;  the  middle;  the  end;  keeping  a  plot  "fluid." 

CHAPTER  XVI 87 

Checking  up  Details. 

A  resume  of  screen  fundamentals  and  values  that  are  vital  in  the  construction 

of  a  photoplay. 


Part  Three 

CHAPTER  XVII 93 

The  Scenario. 

Cast  of  characters ;  brief  synopsis ;  direct  detailed  synopsis ;  main  title ;  con- 
tinuity; sub-titles;  the  insert;  the  close-up;  the  semi-close-up;  the  fade  and 
iris ;  the  dissolve ;  double  exposure ;  the  flash ;  reverse  action. 

CHAPTER  XVIII 104 

Preparation  and  Submission  of  Manuscript. 

Use  typewriter  if  possible ;  be  plain  and  neat ;  send  return  postage ;  other  de- 
tails of  advice. 

CHAPTER  XIX 106 

Subjects  to  Avoid. 

War  stories;  immorality;  plagiarism;  permanent  demands;  originality;  per- 
sonal advisory  service. 

CHAPTER   XX 109 

How  to  Study  the  Screen. 

Analytical  visualization ;  thoughtful  criticism;  studying  the  audience;  com- 
parative criticism. 


Part  Four 

Page 

CHAPTER  XXI 115 

Analysis  of  Continuity  of  "For  Husbands  Only." 

CHAPTER  XXH. 132 

Analysis  of  Continuity  of  "Speed  and  Suspicion." 

CHAPTER  XXnr 135 

Analysis  of  Direct  Detailed  Synopsis  of  "Gates  of  Brass." 

CHAPTER  XXIV 138 

Conclusion. 

Part  Five 

CHAPTER  XXV 145 

Criticism. 

CHAPTER  XXVI 147 

The  Photoplay  Sales  Department. 

CHAPTER  XXVII 149 

United  States  Copyright  Laws. 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 151 

Rules  of  the  National  Board  of  Censors. 

CHAPTER  XXIX 157 

Snapshots. 

CHAPTER  XXX 160 


Plan  of  Study 
The  Handbook. 

The  following  plan  of  study  is  suggested  to  each  member  of  the  Palmer  Plan 
as  the  most  direct  and  comprehensive  method  of  obtaining  the  best  results: 

First — with  an  open  mind  and  with  thoughtful  attention  read  the  Handbook 
through  in  its  entirety. 

Second — read  the  three  scenarios  slowly  and  carefully. 

Third — read  and  carefully  study  Chapter  Two,  which  deals  with  Action.  In 
this  connection,  review  the  three  scenarios  and  Chapters  Twenty-one,  Twenty-two 
and  Twenty-three,  in  which  the  three  stories  are  analyzed.  Witness  as  many  current 
photoplays  as  may  be  found  convenient  and  note  the  quality  of  continuous  action  in 
each.  Spend  as  much  time  as  may  be  deemed  necessary  in  order  to  become  possessed 
of  a  full  and  clear  comprehension  of  the  absolute  necessity  of  action  as  a  basis  of  all 
photoplays. 

Fourth — read  and  digest  Chapter  Three,  on  Characterization.  Study  the  three 
scenarios  and  Chapters  Twenty-one,  Twenty-two  and  Twenty-three,  and,  viewing 
whatever  current  productions  may  be  available,  study  and  analyze  the  various  char- 
acterizations therein  contained. 

Fifth — study  Chapter  Four  on  Situation  in  the  same  manner. 

Sixth — study  Chapter  Five  on  Theme  in  the  same  manner. 

Seventh — study  Chapter  Six  on  Material  in  the  same  manner. 

Eighth — study  Chapter  Seven  on  Suspense  in  the  same  manner. 

Ninth — study  Chapter  Eight  on  Unity  in  the  same  manner. 

Tenth — study  Chapter  Nine  on  Contributory  Factions  in  the  same  manner. 

Eleventh — review  the  various  chapters  of  Part  One,  and  wherever  any  doubt 
remains  in  your  mind  concerning  any  one  of  the  various  fundamentals  therein  set 
forth,  return  to  that  subject  for  further  study. 

Twelfth — read,  analyze  and  study  Chapter  Ten  on  Visualization.  Spend  con- 
siderable time  and  practice  on  this  subject  for  it  is  a  vital  one  and  the  future  success 
of  the  student  rests,  to  a  great  extent,  upon  the  mastery  of  the  ability  to  visualize 
clearly  and  consecutively. 

Thirteenth — read  and  study  Chapter  Eleven,  frequently  consulting  the  three 
scenarios — and  Chapters  Twenty-one,  Twenty-two  and  Twenty-three.  Continue  to 
witness  current  productions  and  to  study  them  in  connection  with  the  chapter  in  hand. 

Fourteenth — study  Chapter  Twelve  in  the  same  manner. 

Fifteenth — study  Chapter  Thirteen  in  the  same  manner. 

Sixteenth — study  Chapter  Fourteen  in  the  same  manner. 

Seventeenth — study  Chapter  Fifteen  in  the  same  manner. 

Eighteenth — study  Chapter  Sixteen  and  review  all  of  Part  One  and  Part  Two. 

Nineteenth — read  and  study  the  four  Chapters  contained  in  Part  Three. 

Twentieth — review  Parts  One,  Two  and  Three  in  detail. 

At  this  point  the  student  should  be  possessed  of  the  ability  to  begin  working 
out  a  photoplay  for  submission  to  the  Advisory  Bureau.  It  is  urgently  recommended 
that  plenty  of  time  be  given  to  this  work,  and  that  the  story  be  rewritten  and  revised 
until  the  student  feels  that  it  is  the  best  that  he  or  she  is  capable  of  doing.  When 
this  first  story  is  completely  developed,  write  it  into  direct  detailed  synopsis  form  and 
submit  it  with  your  number  one  coupon  to  the  Advisory  Bureau  for  criticism.  When 
you  have  mailed  the  manuscript  put  the  story  out  of  your  mind  completely  and  return 
to  the  study  of  the  Handbook. 

8 


Plan  of  Study 
The  Plot  Encyclopedl\ 

The  Handbook  is  essentially  an  elementary  work  intended  for  intensive  study 
purposes — the  Plot  Encyclopedia  is  a  reference  book  to  be  permanently  turned  to  for 
help  in  the  selection,  rejection  and  combination  of  situations  in  plot  building. 

Certain  portions  of  the  Encyclopedia,  however,  will  be  found  to  be  of  direct  and 
definite  value  as  a  medium  of  study.  The  following  suggestions  are  offered  to  assist 
the  student  in  obtaining  the  best  results  from  such  study: 

In  the  closing  paragraph  of  the  Handbook  plan  of  study  on  the  opposite  page  it  is 
assumed  that  the  student  is  ready  to  commence  actual  work  in  plot  building  and  story 
creation.  If  at  this  point,  the  student  feels  that  he  or  she  possesses  a  clear,  compre- 
hensive realization  of  what  dramatic  situations  are  and  how  they  may  be  used  in  the 
construction  of  a  photoplay,  it  may  be  well  to  start  immediate  work  on  a  story  in  order 
to  test  the  various  elements  of  technique  that  have  been  set  forth  in  the  Handbook.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  student  does  not  seem  to  possess  a  sound  and  satisfactory  grasp 
of  the  subject  as  dealt  with  in  Chapter  IV  of  the  Handbook,  it  would  be  well  to  turn 
the  attention  to  portions  of  the  plot  Encyclopedia. 

Read  the  preface  and  the  six  chapters  of  Part  I. 

Read  through  Part  II  in  order  to  gain  a  familiar  knowledge  of  the  classification 
of  the  thirty-six  situations  and  their  various  subdivisions.  This  perusal  will  equip  the 
student  for  the  intelligent  use  of  part  two  of  the  Plot  Encyclopedia  for  reference 
purposes. 

Part  III  is  supplementary  to  Part  II,  inasmuch  as  it  contains  synopses  of  one 
hundred  well  known  photoplays,  with  analyses  in  which  references  are  made  to  the 
situations  involved.  The  student  may  read  and  carefully  consider  these  synopses  and 
analyses  from  time  to  time  in  order  to  gain  an  exact  idea  of  how  various  definite 
situations  have  been  used  in  produced  photoplays. 

Part  IV  may  be  regarded  as  a  continuation  of  Part  I.  Parts  I  and  IV  may 
be  read  and  digested  as  a  means  of  study  and  in  direct  connection  with  the  Handbook, 
while  Parts  II  and  III  are  primarily  intended  for  permanent  reference.  The  addition 
of  the  Plot  Encyclopedia  to  the  Palmer  Plan  is  intended  to  clarify  and  simplify 
the  Handbook  rather  than  to  confuse  or  complicate,  and  it  is  the  firm  belief  of  the 
authors  that  it  will  be  found  to  be  of  immeasurable  value  to  this  end. 


Advisory  Bureau  Service 

In  making  use  of  the  three  Advisory  Bureau  Coupons  bear  in  mind  that  this  privi- 
lege is  one  of  the  most  valuable  units  of  the  Palmer  Plan.  You  have  a  full  year  in 
which  to  use  these  coupons.  Do  not  permit  your  impatience  to  allow  you  to  rush 
half-finished  stories  in  for  criticism.  Take  time  to  develop  each  plot  and  thus  receive 
the  full  value  of  this  service.  Stories  that  possess  some  merit,  but  at  the  same  time 
possess  some  weaknesses,  will  be  returned  to  you  for  revision  and  may  then  be  sub- 
mitted for  further  criticism  under  the  original  coupon.  Stories  that  are  found  to 
be  selling  possibilities  will  be  immediately  transferred  to  our  Photoplay  Sales  Depart- 
ment for  consideration  and  possible  sale.  The  student  will  be  immediately  notified 
in  such  case.  Stories  found  to  be  utter  impossibilities  in  theme,  treatment  or  tech- 
nique will  be  returned  with  a  complete  criticism  and  with  the  advice  to  discard  them 
entirely  and  start  work  upon  something  new. 

The  Monthly  Lectures 

The  series  of  twelve  lectures  written  by  famous  authorities  on  photoplay  sub- 
jects will  be  mailed  at  intervals  of  thirty  days  throughout  the  term  of  membership  of 
each  student. 

The  Handbook  serves  as  a  primer  and  elementary  text  book.  The  lectures  guide 
the  student  into  somewhat  more  advanced  paths  and  convey  the  thoughtful  opinions 
of  a  carefully  selected  group  of  the  deepest  thinkers  in  the  photoplay  profession. 

Each  lecture  should  be  read  and  studied  in  the  sequence  that  it  is  received. 

Photoplay  Sales  Department 

The  Photoplay  Sales  Department  is  permanently  at  the  disposal  of  every  Palmer 
Plan  member  from  the  date  of  enrollment.  Each  student  may  submit  as  many  stories 
as  may  be  desired  and  as  frequently.  It  is  urgently  requested,  however,  that  each 
student  shall  receive  Advisory  Bureau  criticisms  of  the  three  stories  before  sub- 
mitting any  manuscripts  to  the  Sales  Department.  This  will  enable  each  Palmer 
Plan  member  to  obtain  a  fundamental  knowledge  and  skill  which  will  lead  to  a  more 
salable  quality  of  submissions. 

The  "Photoplaywright" 

The  "Photoplaywright,"  the  only  magazine  in  America  devoted  solely  to  photoplay 
writing  and  the  photoplay  market,  is  sent  free  to  members  during  their  term  of 
enrollment. 

The  "Photoplaywright"  is  issued  at  such  times  as  we  have  important  information 
to  transmit  to  our  members,  who  may  expect  from  six  to  twelve  copies  during  the  year. 
Each  number  is  filled  with  inspiration  and  is  procurable  only  by  Palmer  Plan  members. 

Glossary  and  Board  of  Censors'  Rulings 

The  Rules  of  the  National  Board  of  Censorship  and  the  Glossary  of  Terms  are 
contained  in  the  appendix  in  order  that  each  member  may  be  equipped  with  complete 
information.  If  in  doubt  concerning  any  of  the  censorship  rulings  do  not  omit  anything 
that  seems  vital  to  the  construction  of  your  story. 

In  criticising  submitted  manuscripts,  the  Advisory  Bureau  will  suggest  elimination 
of  action  that  is  absolutely  forbidden. 

Do  not  attempt  to  use  the  technical  terms  contained  in  the  Glossary  when  preparing 
a  synopsis  for  submission.    Tell  your  story  in  clear,  simple  language. 

10 


PART  ONE 


The    Fundamentals    of    Photoplay  ^Writing 


Introduction 

A   New  Art 

Action 

Characterization 

Situation 

Theme 

Material 

Suspense 

Unity 

Contributory  "^'Factions 


11 


STUDY  I 

Study!  Study!  Study! 

Never  cease  to  study. 

One  is  never  too  young  to  learn.    One  is  never  too  old. 

Study  prepares  the  young  to  meet  life. 

It  enables  the  old  to  enjoy  it. 

Study  develops  genius.  It  creates  strength.  It  controls  fate.  It  instills  culture. 
It  gratifies  ambition.    It  banishes  grief. 

It  is  the  foundation  of  life's  greatest  happiness. 

Don't  think  of  study  as  work.  Think  of  it  as  it  is — a  great  pleasure.  Don't  be 
afraid  of  it.     Don't  believe  you  can't  learn. 

That  wonderful  human  intellect  is  capable  of  anything.  It  is  yours  to  develop, 
improve,  enlarge.  There  is  no  limit  to  your  possibilities — that  is,  if  you  possess  energy 
and  determination  with  desire. 

Don't  let  anything  discourage  you.  What  others  can  do,  so  can  you.  The  first 
essential  in  learning  is  to  believe  in  yourself.  The  ne.xt  is  the  craving  to  acquire.  The 
third  is  to  know  how.  The  fourth  is  application.  So,  is  the  sixth,  the  tenth,  the  one 
hundredth. 

Never  allow  yourself  to  say  you  regret  not  having  studied  this  or  that  at  school, 
or  that  you  regret  that  you  don't  know  this  or  that.    Go  at  it  and  learn. 

Don't  be  afraid  you  can't  learn.    Just  say  you  will  and  go  ahead. 

Each  thing  you  study  makes  the  next  thing  easier.  The  first  is  always  the  most 
difficult.  You  must  acquire  the  habit  of  study.  Then  your  difficulties  are  solved. 
Don't  be  impatient  to  advance  too  rapidly.  Learn  well  what  you  do  learn.  Make  your 
foundation  solid. 

Nelly  Bly. 


INTRODUCTION 

1.  "Who  will  write  the  photoplays  of  the  future?"  is  a  question  that  is  arousing 
varj'ing  degrees  of  perturbation  among  several  scores  of  motion-picture  producers,  sev- 
eral hundreds  of  famous  novelists,  short  story  writers  and  dramatists,  several  thousands 
of  hit-or-miss  free  lance  writers  of  indifferent  success  and  several  millions  of  motion- 
picture  theatre-goers. 

2.  Within  scarcely  more  than  two  decades  there  has  been  created  a  sort  of  Frank- 
enstein monster  with  an  insatiable  appetite  for  pictureable  fiction.  A  hundred  new  stage 
productions  with  a  scattering  of  "revivals"  of  past  successes  would  supply  the  United 
States  with  material  for  a  gigantic  theatrical  season,  just  as  a  few  hundred  new  novels 
would  iceep  the  presses  of  all  the  book  publishers  of  the  country  exceedingly  busy  for  a 
twelve-month. 

3.  Yet  thousands  of  photoplays  are  necessary  to  keep  the  cameras  of  the  motion- 
picture  producers  clicking  at  a  rate  sufficient  to  meet  the  demands  of  exhibitors  in  their 
endeavor  to  satisfy  the  long  lines  of  patrons  eagerly  waiting  at  the  box-oflfice  windows. 

4.  The  tremendous  growth  of  the  motion-picture  as  a  permanent  and  indispensa- 
ble institution  forms  one  of  the  most  amazing  sequences  of  events  of  this  age  in  which 
we  are  so  accustomed  to  speed  and  the  acceleration  of  speed  that  we  have  almost  ceased 
to  wonder  at  anything. 

THE   BIRTH   OF  MOTION    PICTURES. 

5.  It  was  in  1872  that  Mr.  Muybridge  first  obtained  a  succession  of  snap-shot 
photographs  which  formed  the  first  crude  experimentation  in  motion  photography. 
Others  contributed  to  the  development  of  the  fundamental  but  still  impractical  idea  of 
photographically  reproducing  motion,  but  it  was  not  until  1893  that  animated  photog- 
raphy was  lifted  from  the  realm  of  experiment  into  that  of  commercial  practicability. 

6.  When  Thomas  A.  Edison's  kinetoscope  was  exhibited  at  the  Chicago  World's 
Fair,  it  was  in  the  form  of  a  wooden  cabinet,  which  permitted  but  one  spectator  at  a 
time,  so  that  we  must  really  consider  1895  as  the  year  of  the  birth  of  motion-pictures. 
It  was  then  that  they  were  first  shown  upon  a  screen,  and  not  until  1896  was  the  initial 
public  demonstration  given. 

7.  During  these  early  days  such  startling  and  artistic  scenes  as  "The  Gardener 
Playing  the  Hose"  and  "Mammy  Washing  Her  Child"  were  shown.  These  were  in 
lengths  of  from  twenty-five  to  forty  feet  of  film  and  were  viewed  as  a  matter  of  wonder 
merely  because  they  were  pictures  that  moved.  As  the  demand  for  motion-pictures  grew 
the  length  of  exhibited  film  was  increased  to  two  or  three  hundred  feet;  then  came  the 
first  photoplay — the  first  exhibited  film  that  pretended  to  show  anything  in  the  way  of 
a  consecutive  story. 

8.  This  was  entitled  "The  Great  Train  Robbery"  and  was  eight  hundred  feet 
long.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  Edison  Company  proudly  advertised  that  the 
cost  of  production  was  $400,  and  then  to  consider  that  several  productions  that  have 
been  made  during  the  past  few  years  have  cost  close  unto  a  million  dollars  each.  This 
production  was  first  shown  in  1897,  I  believe. 

IS 


AN   INFANT  ART. 

9.  Therefore,  ive  have  before  us  the  proof  that  the  art  of  photoplay  writing  is  just 
twenty-two  years  old — twenty-five  hundred  years  younger  than  the  stage  play. 

10.  Within  this  brief  period  the  manufacture,  distribution  and  exhibition  of 
motion-pictures  has  grown  to  its  present  high  position  among  the  industries  of  the 
United  States.  That  is  sufficient,  statistically  speaking,  to  indicate  the  magnitude  of  the 
burden  of  demand  that  rests  upon  the  fundamental  source  of  supply — the  creators  of 
fiction  of  a  form  and  quality  suitable  for  use  as  photoplays. 

11.  We  become  aware  then  that  in  the  short  space  of  twenty-two  years,  we  have 
come  face  to  face  with  an  entirely  new  art,  to  which  the  rules  of  creating  novels,  short 
stories  or  plajs  for  the  speaking  stage  are  not  applicable. 

12.  Twenty-two  years  ago  those  of  us  who  found  it  necessary  or  desirable  to  trans- 
port ourselves  across  greater  distances  than  those  open  to  the  practicability  of  pedestrian- 
ism,  made  use  most  frequently  of  horses  or  railroads.  Today,  many  still  employ  these 
same  means  of  transportation,  while  other  millions  of  us  are  using  automobiles  instead. 

13.  Twenty-two  years  ago  we  sought  mental  relaxation,  entertainment  and  educa- 
tion from  novels,  magazines  and  the  stage.  So  do  we  today,  in  addition  to  which  many 
millions  of  us  seek  the  same  effects  from  motion-pictures.  Horses  are  fed  with  hay, 
locomotives  with  coal,  yet  it  would  be  an  exceedingly  facetious  or  a  lamentably  silly 
person  who  would  attempt  to  operate  an  automobile  on  either  hay  or  coal. 

TRAINED  WRITERS  NEEDED. 

14.  Publishing  houses  have  long  depended  upon  novels  written  by  trained  novel- 
ists for  their  final  product.  The  theatre  feeds  on  plays  written  by  trained  playwrights, 
and  the  motion-picture,  the  great  new  art  of  today,  must  be  supplied  with  photoplays 
written  by  trained  photoplaywrights.  Gasoline  cannot  be  manufactured  from  either  hay 
or  coal.  Photoplays  cannot,  except  in  rare  instances,  be  successfully  adapted  from  novels 
or  stage  plays.  Yet  in  the  attempt  to  do  so  has  existed  one  of  the  greatest  weaknesses  of 
motion-pictures. 

15.  In  some  cases  the  producers  have  not  fully  realized  that  the  artistic  photoplay 
must  be  just  that — a  photoplay — and  not  an  adaptation  from  some  other  art.  In  other 
instances  the  producers  have  been  possessed  of  a  complete  comprehension  of  this  fact,  but 
through  a  dearth  of  photoplays  and  photoplaywrights  they  have  turned  to  novelists,  short 
story  writers  and  the  authors  of  stage  plays,  desperate  for  any  sort  of  material  they  could 
lay  their  hands  on. 

16.  Continuous  and  rapid  production  has  been  and  is  a  condition  difficult  to  cope 
with.  A  novel  is  usually  published  first  as  a  magazine  serial  and  later  in  book  form,  its 
circulation  covering  months  or  years.  A  successful  stage  production  may  run  a  full 
season  or  more  in  a  metropolitan  theatre  and  then  be  seen  "on  the  road"  and  in  stock  for 
several  years,  but  when  a  motion-picture  is  produced  a  large  number  of  prints  are  made 
from  the  original  negative  and  these  copies  are  shown  synchronistically  in  "first  run" 
theatres  throughout  the  country.  After  a  few  weeks  of  second,  third  and  fourth  run 
appearances,  these  prints  may  be  seen  occasionally  in  the  smaller  and  cheaper  back-street 
houses  and  then  are  shelved  and  forgotten.  This  necessitates  a  constant  flow  of  new 
productions  from  the  studios  which  in  turn  depend  upon  an  equally  uninterrupted  flow 
of  photoplay  manuscripts  into  the  studios. 

17.  So  few  individuals  have  really  learned  the  art  of  photoplay  construction  that 
these  few  have  been  called  upon  to  sunply  too  great  a  number  of  stories.  The  result 
has  frequently  and  quite  naturally  been  a  decrease  in  artistic  quality. 

14 


PUBLISHED  MATERIAL   UNDESIRABLE. 

18.  Motion-picture  producers  are  still  occasionally  buying  novels,  magazine  stories 
and  plays  from  the  speaking  stage  for  screen  adaptation,  but  from  motives  of  self-preser- 
vation rather  than  choice.  Almost  invariably  original  photoplays  are  given  the  prefer- 
ence, provided  they  contain  real  screen  values. 

19.  Mr.  Frank  E.  Woods,  Supervising  Director  of  the  Famous  Players- Lasky 
Corporation,  has  spoken  as  follows  in  an  interview:  "The  day  of  the  trained  author 
who  will  write  almost  exclusively  for  motion  picture  presentation  will  come,  is  coming, 
in  fact.  Writing  photoplays  is  emphatically  an  art  apart.  It  is  just  as  distinct  as  the 
art  of  the  stage  dramatist  is  from  that  of  the  novelist  and  short  story  author.  In  fact, 
the  relationship  of  the  novel  and  the  spoken  play  is  closer  than  is  that  of  the  book  and 
the  screen  drama  for  the  reason  that  dialogue  is  as  essential  in  a  stage  play  as  a  plot, 
and  more  so  than  action,  w-hereas  action  and  expression  are  the  outstanding  character- 
istics of  the  screen  play." 

20.  This,  coming  from  the  Supervising  Director  of  a  corporation  that  has  dealt 
largely  in  the  production  of  stories  adapted  from  published  novels,  indicates  the  fact 
that  the  future  of  the  photoplay  lies  absolutely  in  the  hands  of  those  who  learn  to  write 
original  screen  stories. 

21.  The  usual  reason  for  adapting  published  novels  or  short  stories  to  screen  use 
is  that  the  supply  of  original  material  is  insufificient  to  meet  the  demands  of  production. 
It  is  easy  to  understand,  then,  what  an  opportunity  lies  before  the  trained  photoplay- 
wright. 

A  PERSONAL  MESSAGE. 

22.  The  studious  men  and  women  possessed  of  imagination  and  creative  ability, 
who  learn  to  tell  their'stories  in  the  language  of  the  screen,  regardless  of  the  standards 
and  theories  of  any  other  art,  will  be  the  successful  photoplaywrights  of  the  future. 

23.  The  fact  that  you  have  possessed  yourself  of  the  several  units  of  the  Palmer 
Plan  is  sufficiently  indicative  of  your  sincere  determination  to  master  the  fundamentals 
of  photoplay  plot  construction. 

24.  Do  not  allow  yourself  to  falter  in  this  determination  if  you  possess  a  genuine 
desire  to  achieve  success.    Be  resolute  and  persistent. 

25.  I  am  quite  as  desirous  of  having  you  succeed  as  you  are  of  succeeding.  Had  I 
not  believed  that  I  could  be  of  direct  assistance  to  you  in  your  quest  for  this  knowledge 
I  would  not  have  put  the  Palmer  Plan  into  effect. 

26.  The  many  notables  of  the  motion-picture  profession  who  have  advocated  the 
Palmer  Plan  and  Advisory  Service  believe  that  I  possess  the  ability  to  give  you  inval- 
uable aid,  or  they  would  not  so  unreservedly  endorse  my  work. 

27.  But  bear  this  in  mind:  These  pages  cannot  think  for  you,  nor  can  I.  You 
must  use  your  own  brain ;  you  must  take  up  the  task  of  learning  to  write  photoplays 
with  a  spirit  of  earnest  endeavor  and  steadfast  resolution.  I  cannot  hold  you  to  per- 
sistent effort  in  your  study  of  the  Palmer  Plan,  but  I  urge  that  you  hold  yourself  to  such 
persistence. 

28.  Read  the  Plan  of  Study  and  make  comprehensive  use  of  the  suggestions  con- 
tained therein.  Do  not  merely  skim  the  surface.  Read  carefully;  weigh  and  deliberate 
minutely.  Absorb  ALL  the  contents;  otherwise  the  portion  that  you  skip  may  contain 
a  morsel  of  information  or  advice  the  lack  of  which  will  be  the  one  weakness  in  your 
technique  that  wi'l  lead  you  to  failure.  Photoplay  plot  creation  is  mental  work. 
Use  your  brainl    THINK! 

Frederick  Palmer. 

IS 


CHAPTER  I      • 
Photoplay  Writing — A  New  Art 

1.  In  approaching  the  study  of  photoplay  writing,  permit  me  to  emphasize  that  we 
are  dealing  with  a  new  art.  It  is  neither  a  limping  little  brother  of  written  literature 
nor  a  poor  relation  of  the  speaking  stage. 

2.  Arthur  Stringer  has  said :  "The  motion-picture  is  more  than  a  new  art ;  it  is  a 
new  language,  a  new  method  of  expressing  thought  and  communicating  emotion.  It  is 
an  amplified  sign-language,  the  picture  talk  of  primitive  man  vitalized  by  movement  and 
magnified  to  splendor.  It  is  life  itself,  singled  out  and  set  in  a  frame.  And  as  life  it  is 
deficient,  as  it  stands,  in  just  two  things.  One  is  color.  And  the  other  is  sound.  But 
this  new,  this  novel,  this  revolutionary  art  which  has  been  tossed  into  the  world  speaks, 
not  in  words,  but  in  action  and  scenic  impression.  It  is  quite  vocal  enough,  only  we 
haven't  yet  taken  the  trouble  to  acquaint  ourselves  with  its  amazingly  impressive  alpha- 
bet. In  other  words,  we  have  deferred  fixing  on  settled  values  for  its  different  counters 
of  expression." 

3.  It  shall  be  my  endeavor  to  make  clear  these  values,  the  deferred  knowledge  of 
which  Mr.  Stringer  deplores.  Photoplay  writing  is  a  new  professional  calling,  just  as 
the  photoplay  is  a  new  form  of  expression.  Within  a  score  of  years  the  motion-picture 
has  grown  from  a  toy  to  the  embodiment  of  the  fifth  largest  industry  in  the  United 
States,  and  its  chief  artistic  product — the  photoplay — reaches  every  nook  and  corner  of 
the  globe,  entertaining  and  educating  even  those  who  have  never  read  a  book  nor  wit- 
nessed a  stage  production. 

4.  I  designate  the  photoplay  as  the  chief  product  of  the  motion-picture  industry  to 
separate  it  from  the  travelogue,  the  educational  subject,  the  cartoon  and  the  various 
other  branches  of  screen  presentation  which  have  their  uses  and  values,  but  which  we 
shall  pass  by  in  order  to  deal  with  the  single  subject  of  the  photoplay.  And  I  use  the 
word  industry  to  cover  the  whole  great  process  of  making,  distributing  and  exhibiting 
motion-pictures.  Our  interest  lies  in  the  art  of  creating  the  story  which  makes  this 
world-wide  industry  of  manufacture,  distribution  and  exhibition  possible. 

A   SEPARATE   TECHNIQUE. 

5.  Victor  O.  Freeburg,  in  his  interesting  and  comprehensive  volume,  "The  Art  of 
Photoplay  Making,"  says:  "It  is  a  common  error  to  judge  a  photoplay  by  the  standards 
of  the  stage  drama  and  to  condemn  it  because  it  cannot  do  exactly  what  the  stage  drama 
can  do.  That  the  photoplay  is  silent  and  practically  wordless  is  a  fact,  but  this  fact  is 
really  no  more  to  be  deplored  than  that  sculpture  is  without  coloring  and  that  music  is 
invisible.  The  man  who  deals  with  facts  instead  of  prejudices  must  consider  the  limi- 
tations of  the  respective  arts,  not  as  defects,  but  as  differentiating  qualities. 

6.  "When  we  examine  the  photoplay  as  an  art  medium  we  discover  that  it  inherits 
something  from  each  of  the  elder  arts,  and  yet  differs  essentially  from  them  all.  Thus 
although  a  cinematic  composition  is  a  play  of  silent  pictures  and  not  of  spoken  words,  it 
inherits  from  the  stage  drama  the  power  of  delineating  human  characters  in  a  series  of 
actions  interpreted  by  actors.  It  inherits  from  the  art  of  acting  and  from  stage  panto- 
mime some  of  the  methods  of  this  visual  presentation ;  yet  the  photoplay,  because  of  its 
ubiquity  of  setting  and  its  hundreds  of  screen  devices,  has  a  flexibility  which  permits  the 
representation  of  stories  that  no  dramatist  or  director  of  stage  pantomime  would  ever 
dream  of  undertaking. 

17 


7.  "The  photoplay  further  inherits  or  adapts  the  methods  of  the  novelist.  It  is  the 
novelist's  privilege  to  follow  his  characters  wherever  they  go,  no  matter  how  often  the 
scene  may  shift.  This,  too,  is  the  privilege  of  the  cinema  composer.  The  camera  may 
follow  the  hero  indoors  and  out,  into  lonely  places  or  crowded  streets,  into  peaceful 
privacy  or  public  broil,  until  the  audience,  virtually  behind  the  camera,  are  made  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  him  and  become  eagerly  interested  in  his  career." 

THE  EARLY  DAYS. 

8.  The  earlier  j'ears  of  film  production  were  chaotic;  conditions  might  have  been 
likened  lo  those  surrounding  a  mining-camp  boom.  The  demand  for  new  pictures  grew 
wirli  am;izing  rapidity,  fortunes  were  made  in  short  spaces  of  time  by  men  who  had 
never  dreamed  of  such  success,  and  in  the  frantic  rush  for  profits  more  thought  was 
given  to  the  number  of  feet  of  film  that  could  be  produced  per  week  than  to  the  artistic 
quality  thereof. 

9.  Time  and  circumstances  have  altered  these  conditions,  and  the  motion-picture 
is  based  upon  sound  artistic  and  business  principles.  In  the  beginning  indiscriminate 
use  was  made  of  every  sort  of  story  material  regardless  of  merit.  Frequently  the  direc- 
tor originated  a  story  while  it  was  being  photographed,  any  more  or  less  connected  string 
of  incidents  sufficing. 

10.  Gradually  this  state  of  affairs  has  changed  and  improved  in  response  to  the 
demands  of  the  theatre-going  public.  Greater  attention  has  been  given  to  storj'  quality, 
but  the  mass  of  writing  has  been  done  by  a  comparatively  small  number  of  persons.  The 
need  of  stories  became  so  great  that  many  novels  have  been  picturized  and  popular  plays 
have  been  adapted  to  screen  use,  usually  with  disappointing  results. 

11.  Still  the  demand  increases  without  a  corresponding  increase  in  available  sup- 
ply. As  a  means  of  expression  and  entertainment,  the  photoplay  stands  on  its  own  feet 
abreast  of  literature  and  the  stage,  and  in  the  capable  hands  of  master  writers  and  pro- 
ducers it  is  quite  as  sure  of  indefinitely  prolonged  existence.  Without  question,  the 
author  is,  today,  the  most  vital  necessity. 

VAST  DEMAND  FOR  STORIES. 

12.  One  prominent  writer  claims  that  thirty  thousand  motion-picture  plays  a  year 
are  required  to  satisfy  the  present  demand.  If  this  be  true,  no  single  and  limited  group 
of  persons  can  hope  to  yield  the  supply.  Therefore,  new  writers  or  new  individuals 
with  natural  imagination  and  creative  brains  lying  dormant  and  undevelc,:ecl.  mu,:t  be 
found  and  trained.  One  cause  for  the  shortage  of  photoplaywrights  ''^  -''e  fact  ihrt 
comparatively  few  have  had  the  advantages  of  practical  instruction  and  gi'idance,  and 
these  have  been  too  busy  with  their  own  work  to  teach  others  to  wriie. 

13.  But  the  lack  of  photoplay  material  has  become  so  vital  and  serious  a  menace 
to  the  future  of  the  motion-picture  that  new  writers  must  be  found  and  developed  at 
any  cost.  The  following  chapters  are  presented  with  the  hope  that  you  will  keep  before 
you  the  fact  that  the  producer  needs  the  writer  quite  as  urgently  as  the  writer  needs  the 
producer,  for  without  a  constant  flow  of  material  this  gigantic  industry  would  soon 
totter  and  fall. 

14.  Any  person  possessed  of  ordinary  intelligence  and  a  natural  quality  of  imag- 
ination and  mental  creative  instinct  can,  if  he  or  she  wills,  become  a  successful  writer  of 
photoplays,  provided  that  the  individual  first  becomes  familiar  with  the  necessary  funda- 
mental knowledge  of  what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it — and  then  uses  the  brains  that  God 
bestowed.  There  are  no  born  scenario  writers  any  more  than  there  are  born  architects 
or  born  novelists.    Success  is  reached  through  work  and  study  and  perseverance. 

NO    MYSTERY. 

15.  Neither  is  there  any  mystery  about  photoplay  creation.  The  cause  underlying 
the  failure  of  an  exceedingly  large  percentage  of  persons  who  attempt  to  write  motion- 
picture  stories  is  identical  with  the  cause  that  leads  to  inefficiency  and  inefEcacy  in  any 

It 


human  endeavor — lack  of  knowledge  of  the  elementary  essentials  of  the  subject  in  hand. 
No  one  possessed  of  sanity  would  attempt  to  make  a  pair  of  shoes,  or  build  a  piece  of 
machinery,  and  expect  to  meet  with  an  appreciable  degree  of  success,  until  equipped  with 
training  in  at  least  the  fundamental  requisites  of  shoe-making  or  mechanical  construc- 
tion. 

16.  And  yet  in  my  work  as  scenario  editor  and  in  my  exchange  of  experiences  with 
others  in  like  positions,  I  have  found  that  hundreds  of  otherwise  intelligent  men  and 
women,  for  the  greater  part  educated  and  accomplished,  are  constantly  submitting  to 
producing  companies  attempts  at  writing  for  "the  squared  circle  of  the  silver  screen" 
that  display  from  the  very  first  an  absolute  lack  of  knowledge  of  the  first  principles  of 
photoplay  plot  construction.  An  individual  of  this  sort  may  have  an  excellent  idea,  but 
in  presenting  it  for  consideration,  he  bungles  and  beclouds  it  in  a  density  of  words,  "full 
of  sound  and  fury,  signifying  nothing." 

17.  He  not  only  fails  to  express  clearly  his  idea,  but  he  loses  trace  of  it  himself. 
He  becomes  bewildered  and  oppressed  by  the  weight  of  his  own  ignorance  of  technique, 
which,  if  previously  mastered,  would  have  enabled  him  to  see  his  way  through  the  intri- 
cacies of  his  plot  to  a  definite  conclusion,  and  thus  more  readily  make  his  thoughts  known 
to  others.  Regardless  of  underlying  merit,  the  intent  is  defeated  through  lack  of 
acquaintance  with  the  rules  of  the  game. 

NEVER-ENDING    QUEST    FOR    STORIES. 

18.  Scenario  editors  are  busy  men.  Their  days  are  filled  with  one  pursuit,  an 
unending  search  for  a  new  story  that  is  fit  for  screen  production.  At  best  they  wade 
through  vast  bogs  of  worthless  material.  It  is  a  brain-fagging,  heart-breaking  task,  this 
thing  of  plodding  through  mazes  of  stories  based  on  worn-out  ideas,  or  hopeless  through 
being  impossible  in  premise,  or  under  the  ban  of  the  Board  of  Censors,  or  too  expensive 
for  production,  or  for  a  dozen  other  reasons  unavailable.  Many  are  illegibly  written 
with  pen  or  pencil.  Some  run  into  pages  of  useless  description,  while  others  are  too 
brief  and  do  not  clearly  tell  the  story. 

19.  If  among  all  these  the  editor  finds  a  manuscript  that  is  properly  arranged ;  if 
the  story  is  clearly  told  in  simple  yet  expressive  terms,  and  gives  evidence  that  its  author 
knows  his  subject  and  possesses  the  ability  to  present  it  in  a  manner  that  expresses  a 
maximum  of  thoughtful  material  in  a  minimum  of  words,  he  breathes  a  sigh  of  relief 
and  that  story  is  given  a  careful  reading.  It  has  made  a  good  impression  from  the  start, 
and,  when  the  editor  reads  it,  if  he  finds  a  plot  with  a  new  twist  to  it,  logically  worked 
out  to  a  climax,  with  dramatic  values  skillfully  manipulated,  it  is  quite  certain  that  he 
la5's  it  aside,  marked  "recommended  for  purchase,"  or  "O.  K.  for  production"  and  the 
little  formality  of  mailing  a  check  to  the  author  follows. 

20.  So  I  say,  learn  the  rules  of  the  game  first.  Master  the  fundamentals  to  the 
best  of  your  ability  before  sending  your  manuscript  to  a  producing  company.  When  you 
are  possessed  of  the  necessary  foundation  upon  which  to  build  your  brain  structures  and 
are  equipped  with  the  proper  tools,  then  and  not  before,  you  may  begin  to  work  with  a 
reasonable  hope  of  reward.  And  bear  in  mind  these  facts — motion-picture  producers 
need  stories  and  are  ready  and  willing  to  give  your  stories  fair  and  unbiased  considera- 
tion. They  are  eager  to  accept  any  stories  that  they  can  profitably  produce — and  are 
glad  to  pay  for  them  according  to  their  value. 

PRODUCERS  DO  NOT  STEAL  STORIES. 

21.  Producers  have  no  desire  to  steal  or  in  any  way  deprive  you  either  of  your 
story  or  its  equivalent  value  in  good  gold  coin,  despite  many  reports  to  tlic  contrary. 
There  have  been  periods  in  the  history  of  motion  picture  production  when  a  ridiculously 
low  price  has  been  paid  for  stories  and  there  have  been  rare  instances  of  theft,  but  today 
the  producer  realizes  that  his  first  necessity  is  the  story,  and  he  is  prepared  to  pay  for  it 
according  to  its  worth,  if  for  no  other  reason  than  the  selfish  one  of  encouraging  the 
-author  to  write  more  of  them. 

19 


22.  Since  film  production  has  outgrown  its  hectic  youth,  and  has  assumed  sound 
business  proportions,  with  level-headed  business  men  directing  its  destinies,  every  safe- 
guard has  been  thrown  around  the  handling  of  all  manuscripts;  and  the  least  suspicion 
of  theft  or  any  degree  of  dishonesty  on  the  part  of  an  employee  entrusted  with  their 
reading,  would  result  not  only  in  his  immediate  dismissal  but  in  his  being  blacklisted  and 
barred  from  the  employ  of  any  other  producing  firm. 

23.  I  know  of  one  writer  who  had  won  more  than  ordinary  fame,  who  stole  and 
disguised  a  story  and  sold  it  to  a  prominent  producing  firm.  The  deceit  was  discovered 
and  the  writer  was  driven  in  disgrace  not  only  from  the  firm  by  which  he  was  emplojed 
at  the  time,  but  from  the  industry  as  a  whole.  For  three  years  he  has  been  unseen  and 
unwept,  and  a  like  fate  awaits  any  other  misguided  weakling  who  attempts  to  betray 
his  trust. 

ANALYZE   YOUR    MISTAKES. 

24.  If  your  story  is  returned  to  you,  no  matter  how  sure  you  may  be  that  it  is 
possessed  of  more  or  less  merit,  don't  develop  a  peeve  and  curse  the  editor  as  an  unap- 
preciative  lunkhead.  Analyze  your  story  and  ascertain  to  the  best  of  your  knowledge 
what  is  wrong  with  it.  For  if  there  were  not  something  wrong  it  would  not  have  been 
returned  to  you.  Scenario  editors  are  paid  to  find  stories  to  produce,  not  to  indiscrimin- 
ately reject  them ;  and  if  your  script  comes  back  there  is  something  wrong  with  the 
script,  not  with  the  editor  who  rejected  it,  nor  the  company  he  represents.  But  don't 
be  discouraged.  Keep  at  it,  persist,  study,  ivork,  wage  battle  with  your  brain  as  a 
weapon.  Don't  give  up.  Remember  that  D.  W .  Griffith  was  a  failure  before  he  was  a 
success,  and  when  you  are  tempted  to  quit  in  despair,  pull  yourself  together  and  take 
another  smash  at  it. 

25.  My  first  eleven  stories  came  back  to  me  in  such  sure  and  rapid  succession  that 
my  head  swam,  and  my  pride  and  assurance  were  battered  and  bruised  beyond  recogni- 
tion. And  when  I  look  over  those  eleven  scripts  now,  I  wonder  that  the  editors  who 
rejected  them  did  not  form  a  posse  and  burn  me  at  the  stake.  But,  taking  advantage  of 
their  neglect  of  that  stern  duty,  I  searched  my  heart  and  soul  for  a  reason  for  the  rejec- 
tions, and  then  I  went  to  a  friend,  who  had  succeeded  in  scenario  writing,  and  asked  for 
advice.  He  told  me  things  that  gave  me  a  new  insight  into  construction ;  the  veil  was 
drawn  aside,  and  I  began  to  see  more  clearly. 

FROM    FAILURE   TO    SUCCESS. 

26.  Obstacles  that  had  appeared  insurmountable  were  easily  overcome,  and  prob- 
lems that  had  seemed  to  me  as  complicated  as  a  lanyard  knot  to  an  armless  man,  fell 
away  to  the  utmost  simplicity.  Editors  began  to  send  their  checks  instead  of  rejection 
slips,  and  in  due  time,  I  began  to  receive  requests  for  more  stories,  and  next  a  position  as 
staff  writer  with  a  big  producing  company,  a  promotion  to  the  position  of  assistant  man- 
aging editor,  then  the  acceptance  of  the  editorial  chair  with  another  firm,  and  an  ever 
increasing  income.  All  of  this  good  fortune  would  have  been  utterly  impossible  had  I 
not  equipped  myself  with  a  solid  foundation  of  knowledge  upon  which  to  base  my  efforts. 

27.  Up  to  eight  years  ago,  I  had  not  written  a  scenario  and  had  never  contem- 
plated writing  one,  nor  given  such  a  thing  so  much  as  a  moment's  thought.  Yet  during 
those  few  intervening  years,  I  have  ivritten  and  sold  and  seen  exhibited  upon  the  screen 
hundreds  of  my  film  stories.  I  am  not  writing  this  boastfully  nor  do  I  consider  myself 
any  brighter  or  brainier  or  more  capable  of  success  than  the  average  man  or  woman. 

AN    EQUAL   OPPORTUNITY. 

28.  What  I  have  done  you  can  do — you  or  anj'one  else.  I  merely  specialized.  I 
desired  to  be  a  photoplaywright  and  then  I  determined  to  be  one.  I  studied  the  photo- 
play in  all  its  phases.  I  used  my  brains,  no  better  quality  of  brains  than  yours,  but  I 
used  them.  I  persevered  and  I  succeeded ;  and  the  knowledge  that  I  gained  and  which 
was  responsible  for  my  success  I  have  set  down  in  the  following  pages  that  you  may  do 

20 


likewise.     But  one  reading  of  what  I  have  written  will  not  make  you  a  photoplay- 
wright,  nor  one  week's  study,  nor  one  month's. 

29.  You  must  persevere  as  I  did.  There  is  no  royal  road,  although  your  road  will 
be  made  easier  through  benefitting  by  the  results  of  my  experience.  You  will  be  able  to 
avoid  many  of  the  early  mistakes  that  I  made  and  to  dodge  a  lot  of  the  hard  knocks  that 
I  received.  I  say  unhesitatingly,  and  without  reservation,  that  if  you  will  read  and 
assimilate  the  advice  that  appears  in  these  pages;  if  you  will  earnestly  follow  that 
advice;  if  you  will  steadfastly  work  and  think  along  the  lines  that  I  have  laid  down, 
you  will  be  possessed  of  just  as  great  an  opportunity  as  I  have  had  and  you  will  be  just 
as  capable  of  success.  I  shall  avoid  personal  theories  and  shall  adhere  to  the  practical 
truths  that  I  have  absorbed  during  my  years  of  experience  in  active  studio  work. 

30.  In  placing  the  Palmer  Plan  in  your  hands,  I  am  delivering  to  you  the  perfected 
tools  of  photoplay  writing.  I  shall  endeavor  to  make  you  a  proficient  craftsman — a 
master  of  your  tools,  but  it  must  be  your  imagination  and  creative  ability  that  shall  be 
the  real  heart  and  soul  of  your  work.  /  shall  lead  the  ivay — it  is  your  privilege  to  fol- 
low.  Your  future  lies  in  your  own  hands.    You  are  "master  of  your  fate." 


n 


CHAPTER  II 

Action 

1.  On  the  stage  we  see  a  character  enter  a  room  and  we  hear  him  say,  "I  just 
drove  in  from  the  country  club,  and  I  had  a  most  amusing  experience,"  whereupon  he 
proceeds  to  tell  us  of  his  experience.  In  a  photoplay  we  see  the  same  character  leave 
the  country  club,  we  see  him  meet  with  his  experience  and  then  we  see  him  pass  on  and 
finally  enter  the  room.  When  he  arrives  there  he  must  do  something  else — he  does  not 
have  to  stop  and  tell  what  has  happened,  for  we  have  actually  seen  it  happen — the  time 
that  was  taken  on  the  stage  in  reciting  his  experience  which  took  place  between  the  club 
and  the  room  must,  in  the  photoplay,  be  filled  with  new  incidents- — more  action. 

2.  Hence  it  will  be  seen  that  the  first  essential  and  indispensable  requirement  of 
the  photoplay  is  action.  Your  whole  story  is  told  in  action,  with  the  occasional  aid 
of  brief  sentences  which  appear  upon  the  screen  in  the  form  of  subtitles,  with  which 
we  shall  deal  later.  This  demand  for  action  requires  a  form  of  construction  wholly 
different  from  that  employed  by  the  writer  of  fiction  or  by  the  plaj'wright. 

3.  As  an  example  the  following  might  be  an  excerpt  from  a  novel :  "The  sun  sank 
in  the  western  sky  and  melted  down  over  the  distant  hills  in  a  glorious  flood  of  crimson 
and  gold.  Little  rays  drifted  through  the  leaves  of  the  trees  and  fell  upon  the  upturned 
face  of  Mary,  as  she  tripped  through  the  sweet-scented  foliage  and  ran  into  the  out- 
stretched arms  of  her  lover.  There  was  a  wholesome  witchery  in  her  rippling  laughter 
which  was  contagious,  as  it  echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the  woodland,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment the  somewhat  haughty  dignity  of  Kenneth  gave  way  to  a  boyish  demeanor  that  he 
had  not  shown  in  many  weeks,  and  soon  they  were  laughing  and  chatting  together  like 
two  care-free  children  just  let  out  of  school." 

WORDS,    NOT   ACTION. 

4.  This  translated  into  the  language  of  the  direct  action  synopsis  of  a  photoplay 
would  read :  "Kenneth  is  standing  among  the  trees.  Mary  comes  through  the  foliage 
to  him  and  they  embrace,  laughing  and  talking  together."  The  rest  is  merely  back- 
ground. The  foliage  and  sunshine  and  hills  and  sky  we  see  the  moment  the  scene 
appears  on  the  screen.  No  description  is  necessary.  It  is  the  characters  of  the  story  and 
what  they  do — their  action — that  interests  us. 

5.  Picking  up  a  book  at  random,  "The  House  With  the  Green  Shutters,"  we  find 
the  following:  "It  was  lonely  up  here  by  himself.  A  hot  wind  had  sprung  up  and  it 
crooned  through  the  keyhole  drearily.  'Oo-woo-oo,'  it  cried  and  the  sound  drenched 
him  in  a  vague  depression.  The  spot  of  yellow  light  had  shifted  around  to  the  fireplace ; 
Janet  had  kindled  a  fire  there  last  winter,  and  the  ashes  had  never  been  removed,  and 
now  the  light  lay  yellow  and  vivid  on  a  clinker  of  coal  and  a  charred  piece  of  stick.  A 
piece  of  glossy  white  paper  had  been  flung  in  the  untidy  grate,  and  in  the  hollow  curve 
of  it  a  thin  silt  of  black  dust  had  gathered.  The  light  showed  it  plainly.  All  these 
things  the  boy  marked  and  was  suddenly  aware  of  their  unpleasantness." 

6.  This  in  a  photoplay  synopsis  would  read  simply :  "The  boy  looked  about  at  the 
unpleasant  surroundings  and  shuddered."  There  might  be  description  of  the  condition 
of  the  room  for  the  benefit  of  the  Director,  but  so  far  as  action  is  concerned  the  boy  is 
merely  standing  still  looking  at  his  surroundings  and  the  audience  sees  every  detail  of 
the  arrangement  of  the  room  instead  of  absorbing  it  through  written  description. 

22 


7.  Chapter  Twenty  of  the  same  book  opens  with :  "There  is  nothing  worse  for  a 
vvealch'ng  than  a  small  success.  The  strong  man  tosses  it  beneath  his  feet  as  a  step  to  rise 
higher  on.  He  squeezes  it  into  its  proper  place  as  a  layer  in  the  life  he  is  building — but 
the  fool  is  so  swollen  by  thought  of  his  victory  that  he  is  unfit  for  all  healthy  work — he 
never  forgets  the  great  thing  he  fancies  he  did  thirty  years  ago  and  e.xpects  the  world 
never  to  forget  it  either — even  such  a  weakling  was  young  Gourlay.  His  success  in 
Edinburgh,  petty  as  it  was,  turned  his  head."  Following  this  are  several  pages  of  more 
philosophy  and  detailed  description.  All  of  this  in  the  novel  is  intensely  interesting  and 
readable,  but  obviously  it  has  no  place  in  the  photoplay. 

MOST  NOVELS  NOT  ADAPTABLE. 

8.  Ill  adapting  a  novel  to  the  screen  all  of  this  verbiage  must  be  stripped  from  the 
plot,  leaving  it  shivering  in  its  nakedness  until  reclothed  with  action.  It  is  for  this  rea- 
son that  the  adaptation  of  written  fiction  has  proved  to  be  a  lamentable  failure  and  that 
the  future  of  the  screen  depends  upon  original  photoplays  written  by  photoplaywrights 
who  have  given  definite  study  to  this  new  art.  In  writing  an  original  photoplay  you 
must  leave  your  philosophy  to  the  deduction  of  the  spectators  who  absorb  it  from  the 
action  of  your  story.  Fully  three-fourths  of  the  published  works  of  fiction  are  unsuited 
to  successful  screen  adaptations  because  of  a  lack  of  action. 

9.  It  is  of  action  that  photoplays  are  wrought,  and  if  you  have  been  accustomed 
to  expressing  yourself  in  other  ways,  you  may  have  some  difficulty  in  changing  your 
methods,  but  you  must  change  them  before  you  can  arrive  at  any  degree  of  success  as 
a  photoplaywright.  Your  characters  cannot  indulge  in  reminiscence  of  what  they 
have  done  or  prognostication  of  what  they  intend  doing,  or  philosophize  or  hold  witty 
conversations.     They  must  do  things. 

10.  They  must  keep  moving,  and  everything  they  do  must  have  a  motive  behind 
it.  By  keeping  moving,  I  do  not  mean  that  they  must  always  be  on  long  journeys, 
for  your  action  must  be  confined  within  reasonable  limits.  One  of  the  great  faults  of 
many  beginners  is  the  habit  of  running  wild,  taking  their  characters  from  New  York 
to  London  and  Paris  and  back  again,  for  no  other  reason  than  to  be  going  somewhere. 
That  is  one  extreme,  and  the  other  is  to  confine  lengthy  action  to  a  single  room.  Noth- 
ing of  sustaining  interest  can  take  place  consecutively  in  a  single  room  for  any  great 
length  of  time  without  lengthy  dialogue,  which  is  a  forbidden  element  in  the  photo- 
play. 

A   CONCRETE    EXAMPLE. 

11.  Examine  and  analyze  the  detailed  synopsis  of  "For  Husbands  Only."  It  is 
a  six-reel  production,  which  is  the  usual  maximum  length,  except  in  the  cases  of  big 
special  productions,  yet  the  entire  story  takes  place  in  one  city — using  only  a  handful 
of  different  localities  in  that  city.  There  is  Van's  residence,  Samuel's  residence  and 
a  few  scenes  in  the  Dalton  home.  The  Country  Club  and  the  country  road  and  wood 
into  which  Van  and  Toni  drive  together  are  immediate  suburbs  of  the  city.  There 
is  a  scattering  of  scenes  in  the  park  and  at  Toni's  mother's  home,  but  it  may  readily 
be  seen  that  the  entire  action  of  the  story  is  concentrated  into  the  one  general  locality, 
and  yet  a  big,  vital  human  story  is  told  in  its  completeness.  At  the  same  time  there  is 
constant  and  consecutive  action.  The  characters  of  the  story  are  doing  something 
from  the  moment  we  find  the  performance  taking  place  in  Van's  private  theatre  until 
we  see  Toni  and  Samuel  embracing  in  the  last  scene  and  gazing  happily  into  a  brighter 
and  better  future. 

12.  Action  may  be  quiet  and  filled  with  restraint  and  yet  be  exceedingly  expres- 
sive. Mrs.  Dalton  and  her  sportily  inclined  friend  sitting  at  a  table  quietly  drinking 
cocktails,  are  exerting  a  minimum  of  physical  action  and  yet  the  audience  is  permitted 
to  absorb  all  that  pages  of  description  might  tell  of  the  social  and  moral  decline  of 
Mrs.  Dalton.     Samuel,  the  careful,  efficient  business  man,  sitting  at  Iiis  desk,  gazing 

23 


at  a  picture  of  his  bride  to  the  utter  neglect  of  the  business  details  of  the  moment, 
expresses  in  action  that  is  almost  passive  how  completely  he  has  given  his  heart  to 
little  Toni. 

VIOLENCE    UNNECESSARY. 

13.  Thus,  in  emphasizing  this  demand  for  action  it  is  not  my  desire  to  mislead 
the  reader  into  a  belief  that  action  must  be  invariably  of  a  violent  nature — that  every 
scene  must  be  of  the  "smash-bang"  sort.  Some  melodramas  deal  largely  in  this  quality 
of  material,  and  good  melodramas  are  always  in  demand.  But  countless  strong,  inter- 
esting stories  may  be  written  around  more  or  less  quiet  and  peaceful  events  and  with 
little  of  a  dynamic  and  uproarious  nature.  Intense  moods  and  depths  of  feeling, 
subtle  motives  and  deeds,  may  be  expressed  calmly  and  with  moderation  and  repres- 
sion, but  always  there  must  be  action,  movement,  life,  for  it  must  be  kept  in  mind 
that  we  are  forbidden  the  use  of  words,  except  in  a  meagre  degree.  It  is  "moving 
pictures"  and  "the  silent  drama"  that  we  are  dealing  in,  after  all,  and  in  our  silence 
we  must  keep  moving. 

14.  It  must  be  borne  in  mind,  however,  that  mere  action  is  by  no  means  sufficient. 
There  must  be  a  genuine  quality  of  drama,  or  of  comedy-drama,  or  of  straight  comedy, 
as  the  case  may  be.  If  our  action  is  pictorially  and  dramatically  effective,  we  will 
have  real  screen  drama ;  if,  however,  our  action  is  merely  a  string  of  incidents,  lacking 
in  drama  and  pictorial  value,  it  is  futile. 


24 


CHAPTER  III 

Characterization 

1.  Having  established  the  fact  that  a  photoplay  must  embody  constant  and  con- 
secutive action,  our  next  consideration  concerns  the  people  performing  such  action. 
Every  story,  regardless  of  the  medium  or  manner  of  its  telling,  must  embrace  events 
in  the  lives  of  a  group  of  imaginary  characters,  just  as  every  interesting  complication 
or  sequence  of  happenings  in  real  life  centers  about  the  activities  of  a  number  of  living 
beings.  Skillful  characterization  is  one  of  the  most  indispensable  accomplishments 
of  the  photoplaywright.  If  your  characters  are  genuine  and  human,  real  living  and 
breathing  people,  your  photoplay  is  well  on  its  way  towards  success.  The  study  of 
characterization  involves  the  study  of  humanity  and  a  more  broadening  and  educa- 
tionally uplifting  issue  is  inconceivable. 

2.  One  frequently  hears  the  boast,  "I  am  a  pretty  good  judge  of  human  nature." 
Occasionally  there  is  a  foundation  of  verity  beneath  such  an  affirmation,  but  more  often 
it  is  a  pretense,  born  of  self-delusion  perhaps,  but  pretense  nevertheless.  How  many  of 
us  really  study  our  fellow  beings  analytically  and  sympathetically  and  to  any  definite 
end?  Not  many,  I  venture.  Therein  lies  one  of  the  most  frequent  causes  of  failure 
among  those  who  aspire  to  creative  writing,  be  it  printed  fiction,  the  stage  or  the  screen. 

3.  If  the  characters  in  one's  story  are  consistently  real  and  "true  to  life"  through- 
out, the  story  can  scarcely  go  wrong,  provided  other  fundamental  requirements  are 
not  grossly  neglected.  If,  however,  we  create  characters  that  are  artificial  and  un- 
natural, the  very  foundation  of  the  story  starts  to  crumble  before  we  are  fairly  started 
upon  the  task  of  building  the  plot.  It  is  much  as  though  we  were  to  attempt  to  con- 
struct a  building  of  pie-crust  bricks. 

4.  To  become  proficient  in  characterization,  a  close  and  sympathetic  study  of  our 
fellow-beings  is  necessary.  Analyze  the  faces  of  the  men  and  women  with  whom  you 
come  in  contact  day  after  day.  The  resultant  understanding  of  the  inclinations  and 
dispositions  of  the  individuals  whose  life-stories  are  written  upon  their  faces  in  indelible 
lines  and  wrinkles  will  lead  the  student  to  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  an  in- 
creased ability  in  character  drawing. 

From  the  time  when  one  leaves  home  in  the  morning  and  on  through  every  waking 
hour  of  the  day  opportunities  for  the  study  of  character  follow  in  close  succession. 
On  the  street  and  in  the  cars  and  ferries  of  great  cities;  in  the  lanes  and  by-ways  of 
rural  villages — everywhere  that  men  and  women  live,  laugh,  weep  and  die  we  may 
find  new  sources  of  inspiration  and  information. 

5.  There  is  the  clear-eycd,  laughing,  innocent  girl  you  chance  to  pass  on  the 
street.  Study  her  face  and  personality  and  try  to  decide  whether  her  innocence  is 
natural  or  assumed.  Get  beneath  the  surface  and  attempt  to  analyze  her  thoughts. 
What  are  her  ambitions,  her  hopes  and  her  fears?  Try  to  look  upon  life  through  her 
eyes  and  imagine  what  you  would  do  under  given  circumstances  if  you  were  she. 

6.  Then  turn  your  attention  to  the  tall,  stoop-shouldered  man  who  slinks  out  of 
a  back  street  rooming-house  with  the  stealthy  gait  of  a  tiger.  He  has  round  shoulders, 
narrow  eyes,  and  a  weak,  receding  chin.  What  is  his  life — where  did  he  come  from 
and  where  is  he  going?     Analyze  him.     Study  him.     Was  he  always  this  shambling 

25 


outcast  with  run-over  heels  and  leering  eyes,  or  is  he  the  son  of  a  respectable  family, 
who,  through  some  twist  of  circumstance,  has  become  the  derelict  that  he  is? 

7.  Now,  suppose  circumstances  bring  the  innocent-eyed  girl  and  the  faltering 
human  wreck  together.  What  will  be  the  result  of  this  clash  of  lives?  Will  her  per- 
sonality dominate  him  and  bring  about  a  situation  that  will  lead  to  his  regeneration, 
or  is  he  too  far  gone  for  that  ?  Will  she  be  placed  in  great  danger,  and  if  so,  how  shall 
she  be  rescued?    Will  another  character  develop  who  will  serve  to  save  her? 

8.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  how  the  contact  of  two,  three  or  more  characters  will 
immediately  lead  to  the  formation  of  a  story.  In  "The  Miracle  Man,"  that  mar- 
velous screen  drama  produced  by  George  Loane  Tucker,  an  example  is  found  of  how 
great  a  story  may  be  evolved  through  the  contact  of  various  characters.  In  the  early 
part  of  the  story  we  find  a  little  group  of  slum  denizens  who  have  sunk  to  such 
depths  that  there  seems  to  be  no  possibility  of  their  ever  again  rising  to  a  level  of 
decency  and  wholesomeness.  An  evil  plot  is  hatched  and  these  creatures  of  the 
underworld  of  a  great  city  go  to  a  little  village  to  carry  out  their  wretched  plans.  In 
this  peaceful  atmosphere  they  meet  a  patriarch  whose  surpassing  faith  in  a  Supreme 
Power  is  beyond  their  understanding.  There  is  a  sweet  little  country  girl  and  a  little 
old  woman  who  is  wistful  in  her  loneliness.  The  contact  of  these  and  others  of  the 
village  with  the  strangers  from  the  city  immediately  brings  about  situations  which  form 
the  story  of  "The  Miracle  Man." 

9.  The  entire  dramatic  structure  of  a  photoplay  is  founded  upon  the  study  and 
development  of  the  characters  into  whose  lives  we  are  permitted  to  intrude  for  a  little 
space.  In  Bret  Harte's  masterpiece,  "The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat,"  we  find  a  wonder- 
ful example  of  what  intense  drama  may  suddenly  spring  into  being  through  the  con- 
tact of  different  characters. 

10.  After  reading  a  volume  or  so  of  O.  Henry's  stories,  one  may  imagine  that 
popular  author  wandering  through  the  streets  of  New  York  or  of  some  Western  vil- 
lage, silently  searching  the  faces  of  men  and  women  for  the  stories  of  their  lives,  for 
when  one  has  cultivated  the  habit  of  keeping  on  the  alert  for  the  drama,  comedy  and 
tragedy  that  may  be  read  almost  as  from  an  open  book  on  the  faces  of  humanity  the 
realization  of  a  new  vision  will  come — a  vision  that  amounts  almost  to  a  sixth  sense. 

11.  If  I  never  expected  to  write  another  story  as  long  as  I  live,  I  would  not 
relinquish  the  pleasure  and  fascination  of  character  study  for  all  the  riches  in  the 
world.  How  blind  are  they  who,  possessed  of  the  sense  of  sight  and  the  latent  power 
of  analysis,  shuffle  through  the  world  unmindful  of  the  pulsing  lives  of  the  contem- 
poraneous multitude  out  of  whose  existence  history  is  being  written  day  by  day. 

12.  Behold  the  aged  man  with  sunken  eyes  and  deep  lines  of  sorrow  carved 
indelibly  into  his  face.  He  stoops  and  picks  a  wild  flower  and  as  he  inhales  its  per- 
fume his  face  twitches  with  a  sad,  little  smile  and  a  tear  starts  down  his  cheek.  What 
memory  has  been  aroused — what  crisis  in  his  life  has  been  recalled? 

13.  The  blossom  falls  from  his  trembling  hands  as  he  passes  on  and  a  moment 
later  a  sturdy  young  fellow  picks  it  up  and  twines  it  into  the  hair  of  the  laughing  girl 
who  walks  at  his  side.  As  they  romp  along,  hand  in  hand,  the  flower  works  loose  from 
her  curls  and  again  falls  to  the  ground. 

14.  A  lisping  child  picks  it  up  and  starts  to  hand  it  to  a  prim  and  scowling  spin- 
ster who  emerges  from  a  gateway  with  stately  tread.  The  soured  and  withered  female 
snatches  the  proffered  posey  and  flings  it  into  the  dust  as  she  passes  on  with  set  face 
and  a  scowl  of  scorn. 

15.  Scarcely  has  the  dew  been  scattered  from  the  petals,  and  yet  during  the  brief 
journey  of  the  flower  from  hand  to  hand,  we  have  seen  in  the  face  of  the  old  man  the 
tearful  grimace  aroused  by  a  half-forgotten  memory;  in  the  laughter  of  the  lovers  a 
glimpse  into  the  future  which  may  hold  for  them  happiness  and  honor  or  sorrow  or 
disgrace,  according  to  the  events  that  may  follow ;  in  the  fleeting  incident  of  the  little 
child  and  the  "maiden  lady"  a  touch  of  comedy  or  tragedy,  as  you  will. 

26 


16.  Everywhere  and  during  every  passing  minute,  as  this  old  world  spins  round, 
stories  are  being  lived.  That  which  is  comedy  for  one  is  tragedy  for  another.  Open 
your  eyes  and  look  about  you  and  you  will  marvel  at  the  human  drama  that  you  have 
been  missing  during  all  these  years  that  you  have  been  passing  through  life  with  eyes 
unseeing  and  ears  unhearing,  for  what  is  this  world  if  not  a  great  book  peopled  by 
millions  of  characters  and  teeming  with  an  endless  succession  of  stories? 

17.  A  fragment  here,  a  suggestion  there,  that  may  be  jotted  down  in  your  note 
book,  recalled  later  and  touched  with  the  magic  of  your  own  imagination,  developed 
into  a  concrete  story-plot,  will,  if  successfully  treated,  sway  the  emotions  of  millions 
of  motion-picture  theatregoers  a  few  months  later. 

SOURCES   OF    CHARACTERS. 

18.  In  the  study  of  individual  characters  we  must  not  allow  ourselves  to  be 
superficial.  We  must  remain  sympathetic,  unbiased  and  discerning.  In  the  creation  of 
original  and  striking  characters  one's  imagination  has  full  play  and  one  experiences 
the  real  joy  of  creative  elTort. 

19.  The  sources  of  character  are  everywhere.  Sometimes  a  character  may  be 
drawn  directly  from  life,  portraying  some  individual  you  know  and  understand. 
Again  the  character  may  be  the  composite  portrait  of  a  number  of  living  people. 
Frequently  the  character  is  suggested  vaguely  by  reading  or  by  observation  and  then 
is  built  up  imaginatively  from  the  accumulated  memories  of  one's  life  experience. 
However  a  character  comes  into  being,  the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  concentrate  so  in- 
tently upon  that  character's  life  and  nature  that  you  understand  him  as  you  under- 
stand yourself. 

20.  You  must  make  your  central  characters  living,  real  persons,  and  in  order  to 
do  so  you  must  really  live,  suffer  and  triumph  with  them.  Unless  you  convince  the 
audience  of  the  reality  of  your  characterizations  you  cannot  expect  to  win  its  sym- 
pathetic interest  in  the  action  of  your  plot.  People  go  to  the  theatre  to  adventure 
vicariously  with  the  characters  they  like  and  admire.  The  primary  aim  of  the  author 
is  to  win  the  sympathy  and  to  awaken  the  emotional  interest  of  the  audience  in  the 
characters  he  creates. 

PLOT   GROWS    FROM    CHARACTERIZATIONS. 

21.  Once  you  have  created  an  appealing,  heroic  central  character  there  will 
naturally  spring  up  in  your  mind  other  characters  with  whom  he  or  she  comes  into 
conflict.  In  that  relationship  lies  the  genesis  of  your  plot.  Consider  for  example  such 
a  character  as  Charles  Ray  portrayed  in  "The  Girl  Dodger."  At  the  opening  of  the 
story  the  shy,  studious,  absent-minded  young  man  appeared  on  the  screen  and  im- 
mediately he  won  the  interest  and  sympathy  of  the  audience,  for  he  was  human  and 
understandable.  Just  as  soon  as  he  came  into  contact  with  the  sophisticated,  self- 
satisfied  and  wholly  independent  young  man,  who  was  a  member  of  his  class,  the 
audience  knew  that  interesting  complications  were  going  to  ensue.  It  was  inevitable. 
A  dozen  different  stories  might  have  been  written  around  this  character  of  "The  Girl 
Dodger"  and  every  one  would  almost  surely  have  been  a  good  story,  because  the 
character  played  by  Mr.  Ray  and  the  contributory  characters  were  real  living  and 
breathing  people,  the  like  of  whom  we  have  all  met  in  real  life. 

22.  Frank  Kecnan  in  "Gates  of  Brass"  created  a  similarly  interesting  and  ap- 
pealing character.  Here  was  a  man  who  was  a  cold-blooded,  steel-nerved,  relentless 
crook.  At  the  opening  of  the  story  he  was  engaged  in  deluding  and  cheating  the 
public  as  a  shell  game  manipulator  with  a  circus.  His  one  big  redeeming  feature  was 
his  love  for  his  little  daughter.  As  the  story  progressed,  he  became  wealthy  and  as- 
sumed the  control  of  large  financial  interests,  but  remained  the  same  dishonest,  con- 
niving, remorseless  being  that  he  was  when  he  was  a  circus  "sure-thing"  gambler. 

27 


Just  as  consistently  did  he  retain  his  love  for  his  daughter.  The  whole  great  drama 
of  his  life  centered  around  the  conflict  between  his  dishonest  nature  and  his  great  love 
for  his  motherless  little  girl.     The  character  was  real  and  consistent  throughout. 

23.  The  critical  study  of  current  screen  productions  will  be  of  great  benefit  in 
analyzing  the  various  characterizations  and  determining  whether  they  are  true  or 
faulty.  Seldom  do  two  human  beings  act  alike  under  the  same  given  conditions,  even 
though  they  be  largely  of  the  same  temperament  and  moved  by  practically  the  same 
impulses  or  motives.  The  fine  adjustment  of  cause  and  its  relation  to  its  logical  effect 
upon  the  individual  involved  provides  us  with  a  fascinating  and  unending  study. 

SEEK    PREDOMINANT   TRAITS. 

24.  The  beginner  must  avoid  delving  too  deeply  into  the  complexities  of  human 
character,  however.  Every  individual  is  possessed  of  several  different  personalities — 
one  of  which  predominates.  No  one  of  us  is  all  good  or  all  bad,  but  for  purposes  of 
plot  development  it  is  well  to  deal  with  the  predominating  characteristics  of  the  indi- 
vidual rather  than  to  portray  his  or  her  conflicting  qualities  of  character  and  disposi- 
tion. Of  course,  when  we  deal  with  the  subject  of  regeneration,  we  show  the  gradual 
change  from  bad  to  good. 

25.  William  S.  Hart  has  appeared  in  many  stories  of  this  sort.  Frequently  he 
has  enacted  the  role  of  an  exceedingly  bad  man  whose  contact  with  a  good  girl  has 
been  of  such  influence  as  to  reform  him.  Usually,  however,  we  show  our  hero  and 
heroine  to  be  an  admirable  person  throughout  our  story  and  just  as  consistently  we 
keep  our  villain  bad  from  start  to  finish.  It  is  this  conflict  between  right  and  wrong 
delineated  in  action  by  our  characters  that  is  the  making  of  many  stories. 

26.  Yet,  bad  as  he  is,  our  villain  must  be  understandable,  natural,  human,  and 
quite  frequently  he  may  win  the  audience's  admiration  for  him.  In  the  case  of  Van, 
in  "For  Husbands  Only,"  we  cannot  help  but  admire  his  poise,  his  brilliance  and  his 
"nerve,"  yet,  at  the  same  time,  we  have  nothing  but  contempt  for  his  attitude  toward 
women  and  his  attempt  to  break  up  Samuel's  home. 

27.  In  creating  your  characters,  do  not  vizualize  the  actors  that  are  going  to 
play  the  parts,  but  think  of  them  as  real  people.  Deal  with  your  characters  as  though 
they  were  living,  breathing  human  beings.  It  is  well  to  proceed  and  write  your  story 
and  then  decide  who  is  best  fitted  to  play  your  leading  part  after  you  have  finished 
your  work. 

CHARACTERISTICS    EXPRESSED    IN    ACTION. 

28.  At  all  times  you  must  keep  before  you  the  realization  that  your  characters 
must  express  themselves  in  action.  In  writing  a  novel  or  short  story  one  may  describe 
a  character  minutely.  In  the  spoken  drama  the  audience  forms  many  conclusions  as 
a  result  of  the  conversation  of  the  individual  character.  On  the  screen,  however,  it  is 
what  the  characters  tio  that  conveys  to  the  audience  just  what  kind  of  people  they  are. 
Rob  Wagner  gave  an  excellent  example  in  a  Saturday  Evening  Post  article  entitled 
"The  Golden  Silence  of  the  Silver  Screen." 

29.  Mr.  Wagner,  assuming  the  role  of  a  director  of  production,  wrote  as  fol- 
lows: "Then  how  about  the  novel  and  story — why  don't  we  produce  them  just  as 
they  are  written  ? 

30.  "I  recall  one  letter  I  received  from  a  well-known  author  when  I  was  in  the 
scenario  department.  His  objection  was  somewhat  as  follows:  'You  have  introduced 
a  scene  in  the  beginning  of  the  storj'  which  shows  Hawkes  coming  into  the  house  and 
kicking  a  dog  asleep  before  the  fire.  No  such  incident  was  in  my  manuscript' — and 
so  on.  And  he  was  right;  no  such  action  was  mentioned.  What  he  did  have,  how- 
ever, was  several  pages  devoted  to  telling  of  Hawkes'  character  and  disposition,  and 
he  made  it  very  plain  that  the  fellow  was  mean,  cruel  and  unconscionable;  and  as  we 
could  not  devote  fifty  feet  of  tiresome  titles  explaining  all  this,  I  hit  upon  the  device 

2S 


mentioned,  figuring  the  audience  would  grasp  in  a  few  feet  of  film  the  character  of 
a  man  who  would  deliberately  kick  a  beautiful  sleeping  dog.  Human  qualities  may 
be  described  at  length  in  a  story  form ;  on  the  screen  they  must  be  shotvn.  In  this 
case  the  man's  character  was  registered  in  six  feet  of  film." 

31.  Therefore,  we  must  remember  this  formula:  Nature  creates  character  and 
character  manifests  itself  in  action.  Let  your  characters  be  natural  and  human  and 
let  the  action  of  the  plot  be  the  logical  expression  of  the  inter-relation  of  the  characters. 

ESTABLISHING   CHARACTERS. 

32.  As  each  character  in  a  story  is  introduced,  his  or  her  identity  and  relation- 
ship to  the  other  characters  must  be  established  in  the  minds  of  the  audience  firmly 
and  distinctly.  The  introductory  subtitle  preceding  the  first  appearance  on  the  screen 
of  a  character  tells  who  and  what  that  character  is  in  as  brief  a  manner  as  is  consistent 
with  the  amount  of  film  footage  allowed  for  such  matter.  When  the  audience  has 
had  time  to  read  this  brief  information  the  character  appears  and  the  first  means  of 
identification  lies  in  the  clothes  and  make-up  worn.  In  the  case  of  a  butler,  house- 
maid, policeman,  messenger  boy  or  any  others  of  a  conventional  type,  this  identification 
is  immediate,  obvious  and  conspicuous.  So  much  for  the  aids  of  introductory  subtitles 
and  manner  of  dress. 

33.  The  next  important  means  of  quickly  revealing  the  nature  and  relationship 
of  your  characters  lies  in  environment  and  lastly  in  action.  If  a  scene  discloses  an 
office  with  a  man  seated  at  a  desk  dictating  a  letter  to  a  stenographer,  after  a  showing 
of  a  subtitle  reading  "John  Smith,  Attorney,"  we  immediately  know  that  we  are  look- 
ing at  John  Smith  at  work  and  we  absorb  a  fair  idea  of  whether  he  is  prosperous  or 
in  poor  circumstances  by  the  appearance  of  his  office.  Naturally  we  know  that  the 
young  lady  taking  notes  is  his  stenographer.  If  he  orders  her  about  abruptly  and 
appears  deeply  engrossed  in  his  business,  we  are  impressed  with  that  fact.  If,  in  tak- 
ing a  paper  from  the  hands  of  his  stenographer,  he  allows  his  hand  to  linger  with  a 
little  caress,  at  the  same  time  expressing  with  his  eyes  a  leer  of  curious  desire  and  the 
young  lady  shrinks  away  from  him  with  a  glare  of  anger,  the  nature  of  the  man  is 
plain  to  us  at  once. 

34.  If,  on  the  contrary,  the  stenographer  drops  her  book  and  the  man  rises  and 
courteously  picks  it  up  and  returns  it  to  her  with  a  polite  look  of  kindness  and  respect, 
we  know  that  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  we  like  him,  while  in  the  first  instance  we  were 
filled  with  a  feeling  of  repulsion  in  sympathy  with  that  of  the  offended  stenographer. 

DETAILS   OF    INTRODUCTION. 

35.  Thus  we  have  four  means  of  acquainting  our  audience  with  the  true  nature 
of  a  character.  First — the  introductory  subtitle;  second — the  manner  of  dress  and 
general  appearance  of  the  character;  third — the  environment;  fourth — and  most  im- 
portant— the  actions  performed  by  such  character. 

36.  To  take  another  example,  suppose  a  sea  captain  is  introduced  on  board  ship. 
He  has  a  heavy  growth  of  beard  and  a  brutal  scowl.  Immediately  we  feel  a  dislike  for 
him;  then  we  see  him  brutally  knock  down  a  seaman  for  a  trifling  bit  of  awkwardness 
and  from  that  moment  we  do  not  have  to  be  told  that  he  is  a  brute,  for  our  first  im- 
pression is  corroborated  by  this  bit  of  action  and  the  nature  of  the  man  is  firmly  im- 
pressed upon  us.  On  the  other  hand,  if,  after  the  captain  is  introduced  we  fintl  him 
to  be  a  clean  shaven,  pleasant  looking  man,  we  immediately  feel  kindly  toward  him. 
If  we  then  see  him  hasten  to  the  aid  of  a  sailor  who  is  laboring  under  some  difficulty, 
we  are  aware  that  he  is  kind  and  humane.  The  first  bit  of  action  performed  by  any 
character  should  be  consistent  with  his  or  her  nature  in  general,  so  that  the  audience 
will  immediately  receive  a  direct  and  correct  impression  without  the  aid  of  extensive 
explanatory  matter.  This  first  impression  of  a  character  is  of  great  importance.  Do 
not  waste  any  time  with  extraneous  action  ;  get  ri^ht  down  to  a  direct  expression  of 
the  nature  of  a  character  and  his  or  her  connection  with  the  story. 

29 


37.  In  "For  Husbands  Only,"  we  find  Van  at  the  opening  of  the  story  planning 
a  miserable  little  conspiracy  in  order  to  make  Samuel  ridiculous.  Immediately  we 
dislike  Van  for  his  petty  meanness  and  have  a  feeling  of  friendship  for  Samuel.  Every- 
thing that  Van  does  throughout  the  story  is  consistent  with  our  first  impression  of  him. 
We  may  assume  that  there  are  many  moments  in  his  life  when  he  is  a  fairly  good  sort 
of  a  chap,  but  that  part  of  him  which  predominates  is  licentious  and  contemptible  and 
it  is  the  characterization  of  the  predominant  side  of  his  nature  that  we  are  dealing 
with  in  the  story. 

38.  Despite  Van's  evil  inclinations,  he  is  rather  charming  and  clever,  while 
Samuel  is  somewhat  slow-witted  and  not  at  all  brilliant.  Therefore,  although  our 
deeper  feeling  goes  to  Samuel,  we  half  admire  Van.  He  is  true  to  life,  and  although 
we  despise  his  lack  of  decency,  we  admire  some  of  his  other  qualities.  This  we  know 
to  be  frequently  the  case  in  real  life.  All  of  the  actions  of  Van  and  Samuel  are  sym- 
bolic interpretations  of  motive,  disposition  and  inclination.  So  must  be  the  actions 
of  every  character  from  their  very  first  appearance  in  a  story.  Hence,  the  success- 
ful photoplaywright  must  be  a  careful  student  of  character  and  he  must  learn  to  indi- 
cate character  in  a  decisive  and  clean-cut  manner. 

UNDIVIDED    INTEREST. 

39.  It  must  be  remembered  that  we  are  prohibited  the  use  of  detailed  written 
description,  which  is  a  tool  of  the  novelist  or  short  story  writer.  We  are  dealing 
with  action  and  each  minute  bit  of  action  must  carry  its  burden  of  enlightenment  to 
the  audience.  Here  we  see  the  value  of  undivided  interest.  There  must  be  nothing  to 
confuse  the  audience  as  to  the  nature  of  a  character,  for  each  character  is,  in  a  measure, 
an  interpretative  symbol  of  motive. 

40.  It  is  the  actor  upon  whom  falls  the  task  of  portraying  the  lights  and  shades 
of  characterization,  but  the  actor  must  have  material  with  which  to  work  and  that 
material  must  be  contained  in  the  photoplay  manuscript.  High-salaried  actors,  costly 
scenery,  expensive  costumes,  and  all  the  other  accessories  to  the  production  are  value- 
less without  the  foundation  of  a  manuscript  containing  the  heart  and  soul  of  the  photo- 
play. Therefore,  a  scene  that  may  be  enacted  in  five  minutes  may  require  as  many 
hours  or  even  days  of  careful  thought  on  the  part  of  the  man  or  woman  who  writes  it. 

41.  In  the  midst  of  the  opening  scenes  of  "For  Husbands  Only,"  in  which  we 
are  forming  an  intense  dislike  for  Van,  if  he  had  performed  an  act  of  kindness  and 
consideration  for  Samuel,  it  is  evident  that  the  element  of  divided  interest  would  have 
arisen  to  the  confusion  of  the  audience.  The  spectators  would  have  been  in  doubt  as 
to  whether  Van  was  a  good,  well-intentioned  fellow,  or  the  sinful,  selfish  creature 
that  was  intended  by  the  author. 

42.  Striving  for  distinct  characterization,  it  is  not  intended  that  every  act  of  a 
villain  must  be  one  of  villainy  nor  that  every  movement  of  a  hero  must  be  heroic,  but 
when  the  nature  of  the  character  is  once  established  firmly  in  the  minds  of  the  audience, 
his  or  her  part  of  the  story  must  carry  a  general  manifestation  of  that  nature.  In  the 
case  of  Van,  he  is  sweetness  itself  to  Toni  as  he  escorts  her  from  her  dressing  room  to 
the  nook  outside  the  conservatory,  and  she  looks  upon  him  as  a  hero,  but  the  audience 
has  been  impressed  by  his  previous  actions  with  the  knowledge  that  he  is  merely 
playing  a  careful  game  in  order  to  draw  his  latest  and  unsuspecting  "inspiration"  into 
his  net.  As  the  villain  of  the  story,  it  is  not  necessary  for  him  to  scowl  and  snarl  his 
way  through  every  scene,  but  the  characterization  must  be  kept  consistent  with  his 
nature,  which  we  know  from  the  start  is  bad. 

STUDY   REAL    PEOPLE. 

43.  It  is  such  lights  and  shades  of  characterization  that  require  all  the  study 
and  thought  that  an  author  may  bring  to  bear  on  them.  There  is  nothing  more  valu- 
able in  this  respect  than  a  study  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people.  In  searching 
life  for  plot  foundations,  the  student  may  at  the  same  time  be  searching  for  types  from 

30 


which  to  draw  his  characters.  Analyze  the  traits  and  habits  of  all  with  whom  you 
come  in  contact,  study  and  diagnose  their  moods,  peculiarities  and  idiosyncrasies,  and 
try  to  determine  how  and  in  what  degree  these  are  caused  or  affected  by  their  environ- 
ments and  associations.  Apply  the  results  of  such  study  to  your  work  of  characteri- 
zation. 

44.  In  written  fiction,  there  may  be  one  leading  character,  and  a  story  may  be 
in  a  large  measure  a  character  study  of  this  individual,  describing  at  length  his  mental 
processes.  Such  a  story  may  concern  the  inner  struggle  of  such  a  character  against 
some  evil  inclination,  and  the  climax  may  come  with  his  eventual  defeat  of  such  in- 
clination. This  is  obviously  impossible  in  a  photoplay,  where  lengthy  description  is 
not  permissible. 

Therefore,  to  show  conflict,  expressed  in  action,  we  must  have  at  least  two 
characters  in  conflict  over  a  third  or  over  an  objective  of  some  sort.  Thus  we  again 
see  the  necessity  of  the  "dramatic  triad"  mentioned  in  the  chapter  on  Contributory 
Factions.  The  strength  of  the  plot  with  which  such  a  triad  is  concerned  depends 
largely  upon  the  strength  of  each  individual  character.  The  values  of  characterization 
are  thus  woven  into  the  very  foundations  of  a  story. 

PICTURESQUE    VALUES. 

45.  It  is  well  to  give  some  thought  to  the  picturesque  in  connection  with  charac- 
terization. Pictorially  effective  characters  have  screen  value.  Star  characters  can- 
not be,  on  the  screen,  simply  every-day  people.  There  must  be  something  unusual, 
romantic,  even  exotic  in  the  central  character  to  hold  our  interest.  Nazimova,  Monroe 
Salisbury,  William  S.  Hart,  Will  Rogers,  Frank  Keenan  and  others  indicate  this 
pictorial  type  of  characterization.  It  is  well  to  give  some  thought  to  this  element 
when  starting  to  write  a  story.  This  is  quite  natural,  for  we  all  know  that  it  is  the 
same  in  real  life;  the  colorless,  uninteresting  type  of  man  and  woman  passes  through 
life  unnoticed  and  unadmired,  whereas  the  picturesque  individual,  with  strength  of 
character  and  depth  of  personality,  wins  our  attention  and  admiration. 


31 


CHAPTER  IV 

Situation 

1.  Advancing  with  the  knowledge  that  our  photoplays  must  consist  of  action 
and  that  a  group  of  definitely  established  characters  must  be  invented  to  execute  such 
action,  we  approach  the  somewhat  more  intricate  problem  of  shaping  abstract  action 
into  a' concrete  story.  The  analysis  of  any  properly  constructed  photoplay  reveals  an 
indefinite  number  of  "situations." 

2.  A  situation  consists  of  relative  position  or  combination  of  circumstances ;  tem- 
porary state  or  relation  of  affairs  at  a  moment  of  action.  A  predicament  is  an  unpleas- 
ant, unfortunate  or  trying  position,  condition,  or  situation.  What  is  generally  known 
among  photoplaywrights  as  a  "situation"  is  more  correctly  a  predicament.  Perhaps 
the  tersest  definition  of  a  photoplay  story  is  getting  one  or  more  characters  into  a  series 
of  predicaments  and  then  extricating  them.  It  is  the  situation — to  use  the  customary 
vjrord — or  several  situations  leading  up  to  the  principal  one  that  is  the  real  foundation 
of  a  photoplay. 

3.  Taking  the  story  of  "For  Husbands  Only"  as  an  example,  we  find  the  big 
situation,  which  is  really  the  climax,  in  the  predicament  that  apparently  hopelessly 
involved  Toni  when  Samuel  returned  to  his  residence  after  witnessing  Van's  insinu- 
ating play,  and  finds  Toni  and  Van  together.  The  audience  witnessing  this  photo- 
play sees  no  possible  escape  for  Toni  and  breathlessly  awaits  Samuel's  denunciation  of 
her  and  her  utter  humiliation  and  disgrace.  In  spite  of  her  innocence  there  seems  to 
be  no  way  for  her  to  explain  matters  to  Samuel  and  utterly  no  hope  for  her.  Then 
when  Samuel  speaks  the  subtitle,  "The  truth  is  that  I  slept  through  the  whole  darned 
show,"  the  situation  is  relieved  and  all  ends  well. 

4.  The  other  situations  which  occur  in  this  photoplay  and  which  build  up  to  the 
final  climactic  situation  just  mentioned,  are  pointed  out  in  the  analysis  of  the  continuity 
of  "For  Husbands  Only,"  which  we  will  come  to  later. 

SITUATIONS,  CLIMACTIC  AND  CONTRIBUTORY 

5.  It  is  your  "big  situation,"  and  whatever  minor  situations  there  may  be  to  lead 
up  to  it,  that  form  the  most  important  portion  of  your  brief  synopsis  when  submitting 
a  story  to  an  editor. 

6.  The  constant  cry  of  producers  and  directors  is,  "give  us  situations!"  When 
you  have  hit  upon  a  predicament,  or  situation,  or  series  of  predicaments  or  situations, 
you  have  the  solid  foundation  of  your  story  structure — which  is  two-thirds,  at  least,  of 
the  whole  value.  Good  situations  and  weak  technique  are  preferable  to  weak  situations 
and  perfect  technique.  When  you  succeed  in  reaching  a  fair  degree  of  perfection  in 
both  you  are  well  on  \'our  way  toward  success.  I  have  found  that  the  most  orderly 
method  of  getting  a  story  is  to  cast  about  for  a  situation  and  then  build  the  story  back- 
ward to  the  start,  and  many  prominent  writers  have  told  me  that  they  work  along  the 
same  lines. 

7.  The  element  of  situation  in  a  story  must  be  the  logical,  natural  and  seemingly 
inevitable  expression  of  the  conflict  of  characters.  Thus  we  realize  the  necessity  of 
giving  careful  thought  to  characterization  at  the  same  time  that  we  are  building  our 
situations. 

S2 


8.  Neither  a  situation  nor  a  climax  is  in  itself  a  story,  but  if  you  set  down  a 
climactic  situation  as  a  starting  point,  then  analyze  the  possible  or  probable  combination 
of  circumstances  that  brought  about  the  situation — and  then  start  in  the  other  direction 
and  unravel  the  snarl,  disentangling  the  separate  threads  that  have  knotted  in  the  situa- 
tion and  drawing  them  out  to  a  converging  conclusion,  you  will  have  a  story  in  spite 
of  yourself.  For  in  working  in  the  two  directions  from  the  situation  in  a  logical  way 
you  will  avoid  mere  episodical  action  and  will  arrive  at  a  connected  and  definite  rela- 
tion of  events.  Whereas,  if  you  merely  take  the  attitude  of  "here  are  a  handful  of 
characters,  let's  have  them  do  something,"  you  will  be  quite  likely  to  evolve  a  discon- 
nected string  of  incidents,  which  is  not  a  story. 

SITUATIONS    INDISPENSABLE. 

9.  The  necessity  of  a  strong  situation,  or  several  connected  situations,  applies  to 
drama  and  comedy  alike.  Regardless  of  theme,  subject,  plot,  form  or  treatment,  there 
must  always  be  one  or  more  situations  if  there  is  to  be  a  story.  And,  although  I  repeat 
the  word  situation  because  it  is  common  to  the  vernacular  of  the  studio,  predicament 
is  the  more  exactly  expressive  word  and  should  be  thought  of  whenever  the  word  situa- 
tion is  used  in  this  sense.  When  you  have  once  established  a  central  situation  you  will 
find  that  many  of  the  necessary  elements  of  construction  will  automatically  enter  into 
your  work  without  visible  effort.  For  in  working  back  from  your  situation  through 
the  events  leading  up  to  it,  you  will  unconsciously  make  use  of  cause  and  effect,  you 
will  develop  action,  you  will  establish  growth,  unity,  harmony  and  the  various  other 
qualities  that  go  to  make  up  a  meritorious  story. 

10.  When  you  have  finally  completed  the  task  of  working  in  the  two  directions 
from  your  situation,  to  the  start  in  one  way  and  to  the  finish  in  the  other,  then  peruse 
your  story  from  beginning  to  end  and  test  it  as  a  consecutive  whole.  This  working 
system  is  not  imperative  or  indispensable.  If  you  find  it  easier  to  go  about  evolving  a 
plot,  containing  a  situation  and  the  other  elements  that  are  demanded,  in  some  other 
manner,  do  so.  But  having  found  value  in  the  above  mentioned  method,  in  my  own 
work,  I  have  described  it  with  the  hope  that  it  will  be  of  assistance  to  others. 

11.  In  Cecil  DeMille's  production  entitled,  "Don't  Change  Your  Husband," 
there  was  an  admirable  example  of  a  dramatic  situation.  The  husband,  tiring  of  the 
gayeties  of  a  fancy  dress  ball,  sought  seclusion  in  a  nook  beneath  a  stairway  landing. 
Just  above  him,  his  wife  and  the  "other  man"  had  hidden  themselves  in  order  to  make 
love.  It  had  been  previously  established  that  the  husband  and  wife  were  drifting 
apart  through  temporary  misunderstanding  and  incompatibility  and  yet  the  audience 
knew  that  the  husband  was  really  still  very  much  in  love  with  his  wife  and  entirely 
unsuspecting  of  any  inclination  toward  unfaithfulness  on  her  part.  As  the  husband 
reclined  in  the  stairway  nook  and  the  wife  and  her  tempter  made  love  in  the  landing 
above,  a  tassel  which  formed  a  part  of  her  costume  fell  over  the  landing  and  dangled 
in  front  of  the  husband's  face.  He  looked  up  and  realized  that  there  was  a  man  and 
woman  making  love  above  him,  but  without  the  knowledge  of  whom  they  were.  Play- 
fully he  cut  off  the  end  of  the  tassel  and  preserved  it  as  a  souvenir  with  which  to 
identify  the  woman  later  on. 

A    STRIKING    EXAMPLE. 

12.  Here  were  three  people  vitally  interested  in  each  other  and  yet  each  uncon- 
scious of  the  identity  of  the  one  whose  close  proximity  was  bringing  all  three  close  to 
the  brink  of  tragedy.  The  moment  the  audience  saw  the  husband  remove  the  tassel 
and  conceal  it  in  his  pocket,  it  became  evident  that  this  separately  harmless  little  incident 
would  later  result  in  the  husband's  identification  of  his  wife  as  the  faithless  one  who 
was  making  love  to  another  man.  This,  in  turn,  brought  about  a  condition  of  suspense. 
The  desirability  of  the  element  of  suspense  will  be  dealt  with  in  another  chapter. 

33 


13.  Sometimes  the  situation  is  the  outgrowth  of  the  relation  of  a  character  towards 
others  or  towards  his  environment.  Sometimes,  in  the  mind  of  the  author,  the  situa- 
tion comes  first,  and  is  later  adapted  to  a  certain  group  of  characters.  In  constructing 
a  photoplay  the  situation  element  is  of  more  importance  than  in  any  other  kind  of 
writing,  for  a  situation  manifests  itself  in  direct  and  screenable  action^  and  gives 
rise  to  complications  that  grow  in  cumulative  intensity  to  an  effective  climax. 

14.  As  I  have  said,  a  situation  is  properly  a  predicament.  The  hero  (or  heroine) 
of  your  story  is  placed  in  a  dilemma,  in  which  he  is  called  upon  to  make  a  choice.  It 
seems  that  whichever  way  he  turns  he  is  doomed.  What  will  he  do?  This  question, 
and  the  subsequent  incidents  that  lead  to  its  solution,  excite  the  spectator's  curiosity 
and  create  suspense. 

A  DEFINITE    EXAMPLE. 

15.  Let  us  consider  a  situation  that  has  been  used  many  times  in  different  forms 
as  the  basis  of  drama.  Let  us  suppose  that  our  hero  has  been  in  trouble  because  of  his 
fighting  proclivities,  and  that  he  promises  his  dying  mother  that  he  will  never  fight 
again.  He  tries  to  farm  a  bit  of  land  that  lies  between  the  ranches  of  the  cattlemen 
and  the  sheep  barons,  which  has  long  served  as  a  buffer  state  between  the  two  factions 
of  the  feud.  They  drive  him  off  his  land,  taunt  him  as  a  coward  for  not  fighting,  and 
mistreat  him.  He  refuses  to  fight,  and  earns  the  scorn  of  the  girl  he  loves  by  being 
true  to  his  sacred  word.  The  girl  has  a  crippled  younger  brother  who  loves  the  hero 
because  he  has  been  kind  to  him.  One  day — and  here  is  the  situation — the  villain 
beats  the  sensitive,  helpless  child.  The  hero  sees  it,  and  the  girl.  What  will  the  hero 
do?  Will  he  keep  the  promise  he  made  his  mother,  or  will  he  thrash  the  villain?  Do 
you  see  his  dilemma?  He  must  make  a  choice,  and  whatever  choice  he  makes  he  will 
suffer.  The  spectators,  knowing  the  superb  courage  with  which  he  has  borne  the 
villain's  insults  and  the  girl's  scorn,  sympathize  with  him,  suffer  with  him  and  are 
interested  in  seeing  him  work  out  his  problem.  This  is  a  situation,  and  with  such  a 
basis  you  can  work  forward  and  backward  in  constructing  the  plot,  developing  pre- 
liminary action  that  will  increase  the  intensity  of  the  situation  and  working  onward  to 
a  swift  and  cumulative  climax.  Such  a  situation  creates  suspense,  and  awakens  the 
emotional  sympathy  of  the  audience. 

A  MELODRAMATIC   SITUATION. 

16.  Another  situation,  which  has  been  used  with  notable  success  in  melodrama, 
is  the  following:  A  young  girl  is  forced  by  her  ambitious  mother  to  become  engaged 
to  a  wealthy  older  man,  whom  she  does  not  love.  Her  sweetheart  is  a  youth  of  her 
own  set  who  is  penniless.  The  girl's  fiance,  shortly  before  the  marriage,  discovers 
that  she  is  clandestinely  meeting  the  young  man.  His  jealous  anger  aroused,  he  lies 
in  wait.  On  the  night  before  the  wedding  he  catches  a  man  entering  her  room.  He 
captures  the  intruder,  and,  thinking  him  the  girl's  lover,  and  maintaining  this  belief 
in  spite  of  her  protestations,  forces  them  to  marry,  and  then  thrusts  them  out  into  the 
night.  But  the  girl  and  the  man  have  never  seen  each  other  before.  He  is  a  gentleman 
burglar  looking  for  jewelry !  What  will  the  girl  do?  What  will  the  crook  do?  Now, 
to  develop  still  another  situation  from  this  one  and  so  to  increase  the  intensity  and 
suspense,  suppose  the  burglar  takes  the  girl  to  her  young  lover,  and  suppose  he  is 
busy  trying  to  marry  a  widow  for  her  money,  and  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  girl. 
She  is  now  alone — except  for  her  husband — and  he  is  a  burglar!  Immediately  the 
audience  would  sympathize  witli  the  girl  and  suffer  with  her,  and  wait  with  alert 
interest  the  next  development  of  the  plot.  It  is  that  kind  of  situation  and  that  kind 
of  sustained  interest  you  must  stii\e  for  in  your  stories. 

THE    COMEDY-DRAMA   ANGLE. 

17.  Comedy  and  comedy-drama  depend  almost  always  upon  mistakes  or  misunder- 
standings.   The  predicament,  or  situation,  in  plays  of  this  kind,  must  be  no  less  intense 

34 


than  those  of  drama  and  melodrama,  but  it  must  be  susceptible  of  amusing  or  laugh- 
able development.  Here  is  a  comedy-drama  situation  that  has  been  used  very  often 
in  many  guises,  and  has  always  made  a  real  appeal  to  the  public.  A  poor  girl  is 
admired  by  a  rich  young  man.  She  has  also  an  admirer  of  her  own  class.  Warned 
by  her  friends,  she  misinterprets  the  advances  of  the  man  of  the  world  and  suspects 
that  he  is  trying  to  wrong  her.  Suppose  she  must  earn  money  for  her  less  fortunate 
sweetheart,  who  is  lying  ill  in  a  hospital.  She  can  sing  and  dance  and  she  asks  her  rich 
friend  to  help  her.  He  falls  completely  in  love.  After  her  successful  stage  debut, 
he  makes  love  to  her,  with  perfectly  honorable  intentions.  She  is  afraid,  but  she  must 
maintain  her  friendship  with  him  because  she  needs  his  backing  to  save  her  sweetheart. 
She  requires  a  certain  amount  of  money.  The  man  is  about  to  propose  marriage  when 
she  runs  away,  having  earned  the  required  money  and  suffering  lest  the  man  press  his 
claims.  She  saves  her  sw-eetheart  and  they  marry.  The  rich  man  later  finds  her  happy 
and  married.  He  goes  away,  sad  to  have  lost  her  and  yet  glad  that  she  has  won 
happiness  for  herself.  Here  the  situation  is  inherent  in  the  misunderstanding.  The 
climax  of  the  story  and  the  character  of  the  girl  amuse  the  audience,  who  have  known 
all  along  that  the  "villain"  was  really  in  love  and  honorable.  Yet  there  is  a  chastening 
sympathy  for  the  sweet  girl  and  for  the  man  who  lost  out.  A  comedy  drama  may  be 
likened  to  a  smile  through  tears.  The  conflict  is  evenly  balanced,  the  complications 
logical  and  interesting,  but  in  all  of  them  there  is  food  for  laughter. 

18.  It  is  worth  while  to  bear  in  mind  that  no  one  of  these  situations  is  definitely 
dramatic,  melodramatic,  or  comedy-dramatic.  The  bare  situation  is  a  predicament 
in  which  certain  characters  are  placed ;  it  may  be  developed  in  numerous  ways.  The 
nature  of  the  finished  play  depends  upon  the  type  of  characterization,  and  the  manner 
in  which  the  situation  is  used. 

STRAIGHT    COMEDY. 

19.  Let  us  consider  an  example  of  a  favorite  and  often-used  comedy  situation. 
Let  us  say  a  young  man  is  liappily  married,  and  receives  a  telegram  announcing  the 
visit  of  his  woman-hating  uncle  who  is  very  wealthy.  The  young  man  and  his  wife 
want  to  inherit  the  uncle's  money,  so  the  wife  assumes  the  role  of  cook  in  her  husband  s 
home.  Her  skill  completely  wins  the  uncle.  Suppose,  for  example,  that  he  likes 
ox-tail  soup  and  the  preparation  of  that  delicacy  is  her  chief  accomplishment.  The 
uncle  falls  in  love  with  his  nephew's  wife.  How  will  they  free  themselves  from  the 
predicament? 

Such  a  situation  as  this  will  give  rise  to  a  sequence  of  swift-moving,  logical  and 
yet  laughable  complications,  which  will  develop  into  other  situations,  and  eventually 
reach  a  strong  and  satisfying  climax.  The  situation  in  a  comedy  must  be  just  as 
close-knit  and  striking  as  in  drama,  but  should  be  developed  in  such  a  way  tnat  it 
produces  laughable  incidents  and  holds  the  spectator's  interest  to  the  very  end. 

20.  These  situations  and  those  that  follow  are  given  merely  as  examples,  and 
are  not  intended  to  be  copied  or  adapted. 

THE    STOLEN   RING. 

21.  Let  us  recall  another,  mildly  dramatic,  which  was  originally  used  in  short 
storv  form  and  has  been  adapted  to  the  screen  in  a  number  of  dififerent  forms.  A  kind, 
gentle,  old  man  of  education  and  attainments,  but  who  is  exceedingly  poor  and  trying 
to  keep  up  appearances,  is  invited  to  a  banquet  given  by  old  friends  who  knew  him 
when  he  was  more  prosperous  and  who  do  not  realize  how  desperate  his  condition  is. 
Someone  takes  off  a  valuable  ring  and  passes  it  around  among  tlie  guests  for  examina- 
tion. Suddenly  the  ring  is  missed,  and  being  of  great  value  the  host  orders  that  all  the 
doors  be  locked  and  all  allow  themselves  to  be  searched.  They  good-naturedly  agree 
to  this  with  the  exception  of  the  old  man,  who  refuses  to  permit  a  search. 

Naturally,  everyone  immediately  believes  him  to  be  guilty  of  the  theft,  but  the 
fact  is  that  he  is  perfectly  innocent,  but  has  been  taking  scraps  of  food  from  the  table 

35 


and  placing  them  in  his  pockets,  so  that  he  could  take  them  home  to  his  sick  wife, 
there  being  not  a  morsel  of  food  in  his  house.  The  audience  has  seen  what  he  has  been 
doing  and  again  we  have  a  situation.  The  host  not  wishing  to  use  violence,  rings  for 
the  police.  Here  also  is  suspense.  Where  is  the  ring?  What  will  happen  to  the  old 
man?  If  the  police  arrive  what  will  they  do?  Will  he  be  humiliated  by  having  to 
admit  that  he  has  been  taking  petty  scraps  of  food  ?  It  is  a  simple  little  situation  and 
founded  on  perfectly  plausible  and  natural  events. 

There  are  several  ways  that  it  may  be  brought  to  a  logical  conclusion.  Perhaps 
a  servant  has  stolen  the  ring  and  accidentally  drops  it,  or  to  bring  it  to  a  more  vital 
point,  perhaps  the  servant,  realizing  that  he  is  about  to  be  searched,  drops  it  in  the  old 
man's  pocket,  and  when  the  police  arrive  and  search  him,  it  is  found.  Then  the  prob- 
lem is  how  to  explain  it  and  get  him  out  of  the  predicament,  for  the  innocent  must 
not  be  allowed  to  suffer  at  the  end  of  the  story.  The  idea  of  a  situation  or  predicament 
is  to  get  a  character  or  characters  who  have  won  the  sympathy  of  the  audience,  into 
just  as  tight  a  place  as  possible  and  then  logically  and  with  perfectly  plausible  methods, 
get  them  out  again. 


%i 


CHAPTER  V 

Theme 

1.  The  thoughtful,  progressive,  forward-looking  members  of  the  photoplay  pro- 
ducing profession  are  devoting  more  and  more  attention  to  the  subject  of  theme — the 
big  underlj'ing  idea  that  is  the  soul  of  a  story.  Innumerable  photoplays  have  been 
produced  and  are  still  being  produced,  involving  adroitly  constructed  situations  and 
an  excellent  quality  of  uninterrupted  action,  but  sufifering  from  the  lack  of  definite 
themes.  Such  stories  are  forgotten  in  a  day,  while  those  founded  upon  a  substantial 
foundation  of  theme  live  in  the  memories  of  audiences  and  move  them  to  look  for  more 
stories  from  the  same  author. 

2.  An  example  of  this  is  Cecil  B.  DeMille's  "Don't  Change  Your  Husband," 
written  by  Jeanie  MacPherson,  one  of  the  cleverest  living  photoplaywrights  and  whose 
stories  are  all  worthy  of  careful  study  by  the  beginner.  The  theme  of  this  production 
is  summed  up  in  the  title.  There  were  interesting  situations,  an  admirably  fluid 
quality  of  action ;  tears,  laughter  and  suspense,  but  beneath  all  of  these  attributes  was 
a  big,  human  theme.  I  venture  to  say  that  thousands  of  husbands  and  wives  went 
home  from  the  theatre  after  witnessing  this  photoplay  possessed  of  a  newly  awakened 
determination  to  be  more  considerate  and  more  careful  to  avoid  any  possibility  of 
treading  near  the  fateful  brink  of  divorce. 

3.  It  is  not  always  possible  nor  necessary  to  hit  upon  so  broad  and  obvious  a 
theme,  and  in  comedy  or  comedy-drama  little  thought  need  be  given  to  the  importance 
of  theme,  but  in  building  stories  of  a  dramatic  nature,  theme  should  be  one  of  the 
first  considerations. 

ENDLESS  SUPPLY. 

4.  We  sometimes  hear  the  remark,  "What's  the  use  of  trying  to  write  scenarios — 
everything  has  been  done — the  plots  and  themes  are  all  used  up — there  is  nothing  new 
under  the  sun" — all  of  which  is  tommy-rot.  Suppose  Charles  Dickens  had  dismissed 
the  thought  of  writing  because  "all  the  plots  and  themes  have  been  used  up."  Tons 
of  fiction  had  been  published  before  he  was  born,  yet  he  added  a  shelf  full  of  mag- 
nificent tales  to  English  literature,  running  the  gamut  of  plots  and  human  emotions. 
Suppose,  then,  that  Kipling  had  said,  "Dickens  has  done  everything  that  was  not  done 
before,"  or  De  Maupassant,  or  O.  Henry,  or  Mark  Twain,  or  Jack  London,  or  a 
thousand  others.  A  hundred  years  from  now  new  authors  will  be  writing  books  and 
the  new  photoplaywrights  will  be  writing  photoplays. 

5.  Choosing  material  for  stories  involves  more  time  and  effort  spent  in  elimina- 
tion than  in  quest.  The  world  is  so  full  of  potent  subjects  for  story  use;  life  is  so  laden 
with  pulsing  themes  and  interesting  plots,  that  the  thoughtful  writer  may  be  puzzled 
as  to  which  ones  to  choose,  but  never  need  he  be  in  doubt  as  to  where  to  find  one. 
There  is  a  story  waiting  for  you,  no  matter  in  which  direction  you  turn.  The  family 
next  door  is  living  a  story — the  life  of  your  washerwoman  contains  a  story — there  is 
a  story  around  every  corner,  on  every  street,  in  every  house  or  office  or  shop,  on  every 
railway  train,  in  city  or  in  country — stories,  stories,  everywhere! 

6.  What  is  a  photoplay  story?  Nothing  more  nor  less  tlian  the  reflection  in  a 
mirror  held  up  to  Life. 

7.  What,  then,  is  Life?    Struggle,  conflict! 

37 


STRUGGLE   AND   CONFLICT. 

8.  Ergo,  hence,  therefore,  and  by  the  same  token,  a  story  is  the  record  of  a 
struggle — the  history  of  a  conflict  which  has  occurred  or  that  might  have  occurred. 
Man's  never-ending  conflict  with  nature;  the  conflict  of  one  man,  as  an  individual 
animal,  against  another;  the  struggle  of  the  individual  against  society  as  an  institution; 
man's  inner  conflict  of  the  "good  nature"  against  the  "bad  nature"— of  conscience 
against  evil  inclination — these  and  other  general  classifications  embodying  innumerable 
variations,  contain  the  history  of  Life  itself. 

Every  work  of  history;  the  Bible,  the  Koran,  and  all  the  works  of  revelation 
and  pseudo-revelation — all  deal  largely  with  conflict — struggle.  Struggle  of  Right 
against  Wrong — struggle  for  an  Ideal— struggle  to  prove  a  Theory — struggles  of  a 
thousand  kinds  and  in  a  thousand  forms — but  always  struggle— conflict ! 

9.  The  infant  struggles  against  the  restraining  arms  of  its  mother — struggles 
for  liberty,  for  objects  out  of  its  reach,  for  the  moon.  With  its  first  feeble  strength 
and  even  before  it  has  opened  its  eyes  upon  the  world,  it  instinctively  starts  to  struggle, 
and  throughout  the  years  that  follow,  even  unto  the  final  struggle  with  Death — the 
conflict  continues.  The  child  in  school,  the  youth  setting  out  to  make  his  fortune, 
the  wooing  lover,  the  man  in  business,  the  soldier,  the  sportsman,  the  athlete,  the 
preacher,  the  miner;  all,  big  and  little,  rich  and  poor,  young  and  old,  weak  and 
strong,  wage  a  ceaseless  conflict,  a  struggle  that  ends  only  in  the  grave.  It  is  concrete 
examples — chapters  lifted  out  of  life — that  makes  stories.  So  long  as  the  world  goes 
round,  just  so  long  will  there  be  conflict  and  just  so  long  will  there  be  stories  to  tell. 

CONFLICT    NOT   ALL    GRIM. 

10.  In  viewing  life  as  struggle  and  conflict,  do  not  allow  yourself  to  fall  into  the 
thought  that  these  elements  are  necessarily  of  a  grim,  forbidding,  gross,  repellant  or 
unlovely  nature.  The  brightness  and  pleasures  of  life  are  founded  on  struggle  as 
well  as  the  darker  hours.  Consider  our  recreations :  baseball,  golf,  cards,  billiards — 
every  sport,  indoor  and  outdoor,  is  based  on  competition,  which  is  a  variation  of  strug- 
gle. It  is  of  such  that  horse  races  are  made.  Struggle  and  conflict  may  be  friendly, 
pleasant  and  even  joyous — but  they  are  present  in  every  moment  of  every  individual 
life,  a  fact  of  which  a  little  careful  thought  will  serve  to  convince  the  most  skeptical. 

11.  Referring  again  to  "Don't  Change  Your  Husband,"  there  was  the  husband's 
struggle  against  habit  and  his  subsequent  struggle  to  regain  his  wife's  affection.  There 
was  the  wife's  struggle  for  happiness  and  her  struggle  against  the  loneliness  that  her 
husband's  close  attention  to  business  brought  upon  her.  The  entire  story  concerns 
the  conflict  that  resulted  from  the  contact  of  the  three  principal  characters — the  hus- 
band, the  wife  and  the  "other  man." 

12.  In  "For  Husbands  Only,"  we  again  have  the  conflict  that  comes  about 
through  the  contact  of  two  men  and  a  woman.  We  have  Van's  struggle  to  possess 
Toni  and  her  struggle  to  obtain  revenge  and  teach  him  a  well-deserved  lesson.  In  this 
story  we  find  an  excellent  example  of  struggle  that  is  in  no  sense  physical,  but  which 
is  struggle,  nevertheless,  beneath  the  surface  of  action,  and  which  might  be  expressed 
in  the  thought  that  it  pays  to  be  honorable.  It  is  not  to  be  assumed  from  my  reference 
to  "Don't  Change  Your  Husband"  and  "For  Husbands  Only"  that  we  must  in- 
variably adhere  to  scenes  concerning  the  "eternal  triangle"  of  two  men  and  a  woman 
or  two  women  and  a  man. 

13.  In  "Gates  of  Brass,"  in  which  Frank  Keenan  appeared,  we  have  a  pertinent 
example  of  a  story  in  which  the  familiar  triangle  does  not  appear  and  which  concerns 
largely  the  struggle  of  a  man  between  innate  propensities  toward  gross  dishonesty  and 
his  enduring  love  for  his  sweet,  innocent  daughter. 

DRAMA  CLOSE  AT  HAND. 

Heed  this  advice  from  Kate  Corbaley:  "Do  not  rebel  because  you  cannot  sail 
the  seven  seas  in  search  of  romance  and  adventure  as  material  for  your  stories,  but 

38 


look  about  you  and  you  will  find  it  close  to  you — on  the  same  street — perhaps  in  the 
house  next  door.  Tliere  is  no  need  to  journey  to  far  lands  in  search  of  story  material, 
for  it  is  everywhere.  Right  in  your  own  quiet  town  there  is  stirring  romance,  high 
endea\or,  soul-shaking  tragedy  and  intense  drama." 

14.  There  are  innumerable  themes  and  countless  combinations  of  treatments. 
How  inane,  then,  is  the  assertion  that  "there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun."  There  is 
nothing  new,  nor  is  there  anything  old.  Life  is  old  and  Life  is  new.  Love,  sin  and  its 
punishment,  virtue  and  its  reward;  glory,  honor,  disgrace,  shame — it  is  all  as  old  as  the 
world  itself  and  all  as  new  each  day  as  it  was  in  the  beginning.  Each  morning  we  look 
with  awe  and  wonder  upon  the  grandeur  of  the  rising  sun,  each  night  we  marvel  at  the 
magnificence  of  its  setting.  A  thousand  years  ago  men  knew  the  same  emotions  and  so 
a  thousand  years  from  now  will  other  men.  The  vital  things  of  life  are  just  as  new 
each  day  as  they  were  when  the  world  was  young,  and  will  be  even  to  the  end  of  time. 

STUDY    HUMANITY. 

Your  field  of  story  material  is  limited  only  by  the  bounds  of  your  observation  and 
your  knowledge  of  life  and  men.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  I  have  said  that  your  actual 
study  should  be  of  humanity  rather  than  of  books  about  humanity.  For  characters  with 
which  to  people  your  stories  you  have  the  population  of  the  Earth.  No  two  men  or 
women  are  exactly  alike — the  circumstances  that  surround  individual  lives  are  never 
identical  in  any  two  instances.  Among  a  million  men  there  are  not  two  duplicate 
thumb-prints,  nor  is  there  duplication  of  detail  in  the  hopes  and  fears,  the  joys  and 
sorrows,  the  thoughts  and  deeds  and  the  causes  thereof,  in  the  lives  of  any  two  beings 
that  ever  trod  the  earth  or  ever  shall. 

PICTORIAL  AND  DRAMATIC. 

15.  In  the  selection  of  themes  and  plot  material  it  is  well  to  consider  what  will  be 
pictorially  and  dramatically  effective  and  what  will  not.  It  is  urged  that  careful  con- 
sideration of  this  point  be  constantly  kept  in  mind.  Review  all  of  the  photoplays  that 
you  have  seen  in  the  past  and  carefully  weigh  those  that  are  being  currently  shown. 
Keep  in  view  the  pictorial  and  dramatic  quality  and  decide  for  yourself  where  the 
strength  or  weakness  of  the  picture,  or  the  defect  lies. 

Where,  then,  is  there  to  be  found  material  for  the  "plots"  of  stories?  Everj-where, 
always!  With  every  breath,  in  each  heart-beat  and  at  every  tick  of  the  clock — in  any 
direction  that  one  might  look,  there  are  so  many  stories  that  one  may  falter  only  in  the 
bewilderment  of  choosing  from  the  vastness  of  available  material. 

16.  Perch  yourself,  mentally,  upon  the  edge  of  a  cloud  and  look  down  upon  the 
millions  of  men  that  swarm  the  earth.  Analyze  the  struggle,  keep  a  broad,  open,  sym- 
pathetic mind — for  sympathy  must  predominate  and  be  strong  and  enduring;  forget 
your  tiny  opinions  of  religion  or  politics;  do  not  attempt  propaganda  or  preaching  for 
the  sake  of  preaching — there  are  enough  big  subjects,  or  rather,  enough  branches  of  the 
one  big  subject — Life — to  keep  you  busy  pecking  at  scarcely  more  than  the  edge  of  the 
surface,  though  you  write  with  a  pen  as  long  as  a  ray  from  the  sun,  dipped  in  an  ocean 
of  ink  and  even  though  you  could  have  a  million  of  years  for  your  task. 


39 


CHAPTER  VI 

Material 

1.  As  has  been  said,  the  available  supply  of  themes  and  plot  material  is  so  vast  as 
to  have  a  bewildering  effect  upon  the  mind  of  the  untrained  writer,  once  he  realizes  how 
much  there  is  to  choose  from.  But  when  we  examine  and  classify  this  raw  stock,  as  an 
artist  inventories  his  oils  and  pigments,  we  find  that  it  is  not  as  chaotic  as  at  first  ap- 
pears. Out  of  the  great  mass  of  human  experience  we  must  choose  a  theme  and  then  a 
situation — a  combination  of  circumstances — or  a  sequence  of  situations  upon  which  to 
build  the  events  that  go  to  make  the  complete  story. 

2.  It  has  been  stated  that  there  are  but  thirty-six  possible  fundamental  dramatic 
situations.  If  this  be  true,  it  is  of  no  more  importance  than  that  a  piano  has  but  a 
limited  number  of  keys  for  the  interpretations  that  may  be  derived  from  less  than  two 
score  of  dramatic  situations  are  quite  as  limitless  as  the  number  of  "tunes"  that  may  be 
obtained  on  the  piano  through  the  skilled  manipulation  of  the  keys.  A  new  set  of 
circumstances  makes  a  new  story  of  the  world-old  subject  of  the  love  of  a  man  for  a 
maid.  We  hear  some  one  speak  of  a  story  as  being  "just  a  love  story."  If  the  com- 
bination of  circumstances  and  events  are  of  a  commonplace,  uninteresting  nature;  if 
they  are  not  clothed  in  novelty  and  newness,  then  it  is  in  truth,  "just  a  love  story." 
But  if  the  eternal  subject  of  love  is  treated  in  a  fresh,  compelling  manner  it  becomes  a 
new  subject.     Theme  is  necessary  and  important,  but  theme  is  secondary  to  treatment. 

NEW  TREATMENT. 

3.  When  you  rise  in  the  morning  it  is  "just  another  day" — a  unit  of  time,  one 
of  millions  of  like  units.  But  if  that  day  is  marked  with  a  great  storm  or  an  earthquake 
or  the  outbreak  of  war  or  the  assassination  of  a  monarch,  it  lingers  in  the  memories  of 
men  down  through  the  ages  that  follow.  So  it  is  with  a  story  theme.  Love  is  just 
merely  love.  If  a  man  loves  a  woman  and  marries  her,  that,  as  it  stands,  is  a  piece  of 
news  of  no  more  general  interest  than  is  the  fact  that  a  clock  has  struck  or  a  day  has 
dawned.  But  if  the  man  in  his  wooing  of  a  woman  meets  with  obstacles,  his  struggle 
against  those  obstacles,  his  victor}'  and  ultimate  marriage,  take  the  form  of  a  story. 

If  the  obstacles  are  of  an  unusual  nature,  and  the  man  is  called  upon  to  exert 
almost  superhuman  efforts  to  overcome  them,  thus  winning  the  sympathy  and  admiration 
of  the  audience,  then  we  have  not  only  a  story,  but  a  strong,  virile  story.  The  more 
unusual  the  circumstances  and  the  greater  the  struggle,  which  ends  in  success,  the  better 
the  story ;  although  in  seeking  the  unusual  the  writer  must  avoid  straying  into  the  for- 
bidden fields  of  the  impossible  and  ridiculous. 

Randolph  Bartlett,  writing  in  Photoplay,  says:  "While  the  situation  of  the  hero 
abducting  the  heroine  at  the  altar  where  she  is  about  to  be  married  against  her  will,  may 
always  be  essentially  the  same,  the  story  of  that  abduction  as  told  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  in 
Lochinvar  bears  little  resemblance  to  the  tale  when  it  concerns  a  fashionable  couple  of 
today  who  escape  their  irate  relatives  in  a  high-power  car. 

4.  "Still  we  chafe  at  this  repetition  when  it  is  not  reproduced  in  colors  new,  just 
as  we  object  to  a  long  row  of  houses,  each  of  the  same  shape  and  hue  as  its  neighbor, 
though  we  may  be  fond  of  the  folk  within.  We  demand  the  same  variety  of  life,  of 
personal  relations,  of  friendships,  of  everything  that  goes  to  make  up  existence. 

40 


5.  "Hence,  it  is  obvious  that  'the  play's  the  thing,'  only  when,  by  some  nevr 
twist  of  treatment,  some  new  interpretation  of  character,  it  is  given  the  appearance  of 
novelty,  though  its  theme  may  be  as  old  as  the  book  of  Genesis,  from  which,  after  all, 
most  drama  is  taken.  This  is  why  it  is  necessary  that  the  genius  of  the  scenario  writer 
must  be  developed,  given  free  rein,  encouraged." 

A  MINE  OF   MATERIAL. 

6.  John  Northern  Hilliard,  in  an  Eastern  newspaper,  quotes  a  lecturer  at  the 
University  of  California  who  recently  declared  that  each  daily  issue  of  a  large  city  news- 
paper is  worth  about  twenty  thousand  dollars  to  the  writer  of  fiction.  Mr.  Hilliard 
says: 

7.  "In  other  words,  the  material  found  in  each  daily  issue,  the  material  taken 
first-hand  from  life,  would  yield  that  much  to  the  writer  who  knew  how  to  make  use  of 
it.  The  lecturer  did  not  mean  to  imply,  of  course,  that  anyone  could  sit  down  and  skim 
t^venty  thousand  dollars  off  a  copy  of  his  favorite  newspaper.  What  he  really  meant 
was  that  a  writer  who  was  a  master  of  his  craft,  who  had  a  market  for  his  wares,  could 
go  to  the  daily  newspaper  for  his  facts  and  get  enough  material  to  turn  into  stories, 
photoplays,  novels,  novelettes  and  magazine  articles  that  would  bring  him  in,  at  mar- 
ket rates,  approximately  twenty  thousand  dollars.  In  other  words,  gold  is  where  you 
find  it,  in  literature  as  in  mining." 

8.  Then  Mr.  Hilliard  proceeds  to  dissect  and  analyze  the  news  items  in  a  single 
copy  of  a  San  Francisco  newspaper.  The  first  headline  that  he  mentions,  reads:  "Treas- 
ure Robbery  on  Pacific  Liner."  There  is  a  romance  without  a  question.  As  he  skims 
through  the  newspaper,  Mr.  Hilliard  digs  up  material  for  numerous  photoplays,  short 
stories  or  even  novels  and  this,  mind  you,  from  a  single  copy  of  a  daily  paper. 

A  STORY  GERM. 

9.  Turning  to  a  Los  Angeles  paper,  the  first  article  that  reaches  my  eyes  is  the 
account  of  the  finding  of  the  dead  body  of  Sam  Smith  (these  names  are  fictitious  for 
obvious  reasons),  who  had  been  missing  from  Los  Angeles  for  some  time.  In  Smith's 
pocket  there  were  found  none  of  his  own  possessions,  but  instead  there  was  the  diary 
and  other  effects  of  one  Joseph  Brown,  who  had  dropped  from  sight  about  the  same 
time  that  Smith  was  first  missed.  Brown,  however,  had  disappeared  utterly.  There  is 
the  foundation  of  a  mystery  story.  What  became  of  Brown ;  how  did  his  possessions 
pass  to  Smith,  and  who  killed  Smith?  I  venture  that  not  a  single  copy  of  any  daily 
paper  is  lacking  in  a  number  of  such  news  stories  that  may  be  productive  of  excellent 
photoplays  provided  they  are  developed  along  the  proper  lines  of  technique. 

10.  It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  ready-made  stories  in  all  of  their  finished  details 
will  be  found  in  newspapers,  nor  yet  in  our  observation  of  our  fellow  beings,  but  much 
of  a  suggestive  nature  which  may  be  utilized  as  raw  material,  and  that  may  be  produc- 
tive o-f  excellent  stories  is  always  at  hand.  It  is  by  no  means  necessary  to  seek  the 
extremely  unusual  or  bizarre,  for  frequently  a  quiet  and  mild  story  may  be  a  greater 
success  than  a  wild  melodrama,  provided  it  contains  real  human  truth.  Someone  has 
defined  the  successful  photoplay  as  "a  big  truth,  simply  told,"  but  we  must  not  allow 
ourselves  to  tell  uninteresting  stories  even  though  they  may  be  quiet  and  simple. 

BENEFITS  OF  READING 

11.  Wide  reading  of  fiction  is  of  benefit  only  as  it  has  developed  a  broad  knowl- 
edge of  life  itself.  If  it  has  merely  stored  your  mind  with  a  jumble  of  stories  and 
incidents,  it  is  a  drawback  rather  than  an  asset.  For  it  will  inevitably  lead  to  some 
form  of  plagiarism.  I  hesitate  to  think  that  any  sane  being  would  purposely  and  with 
preconceived  intent  purloin  any  part  of  the  writings  of  another  and  use  it  as  his  own 
work.  But  if  an  individual  reads  and  remembers  matter  that  is  merely  memorized  and 
not  assimilated,  as  fertilizer  is  absorbed  by  a  plant,  only  to  strengthen  its  own  growth, 
he  is  in  danger  of  becoming  at  least  a  sub-conscious  plagiarist. 

41 


The  best  prepared  author  is  the  one  who  looks  out  upon  life  as  an  interested  and 
unbiased  spectator,  as  a  good  reporter  capable  of  philosophy.  He  may  have  read 
extensively,  but  his  reading  has  been  rather  a  means  of  awakening  his  curiosity  and  stim- 
ulating his  study  and  analysis  of  life.  Don't  warm  over  other  men's  thoughts  and 
serve  them  as  your  own.  Think  for  yourself.  The  same  rule  holds  good  when  applied 
to  the  reading  of  newspapers,  although  for  somevihat  different  reasons. 

When  you  pick  up  a  paper  and  read  the  account  of  a  happening  of  the  day  which 
contains  a  dramatic  situation,  a  throbbing  chapter  of  life  itself,  it  is  obviously  your 
property  as  much  as  it  is  any  other  man's.  It  is  not  the  creation  of  another's  imagina- 
tion; it  is  a  report  of  something  that  has  actually  occurred  and  therefore  belongs  to  no 
one,  and  at  the  same  time  it  belongs  to  everyone. 

THINK    FOR    YOURSELF. 

12.  The  widely-read  man  is  better  prepared  for  participation  in  any  line  of 
endeavor  than  the  one  who  has  read  little  or  nothing.  But  a  constant  reader  of  fiction 
— novels  and  short  stories — to  the  exclusion  of  other  subjects,  cannot  be  said  to  be 
widely  read.  To  read  and  enjoy  fiction  requires  little  mental  effort — it  is  the  laziest 
form  of  reading.  Mind,  I  do  not  wish  to  convey  that  it  is  undesirable.  On  the  con- 
trary, a  general  knowledge  of  the  best  fiction  is  a  valuable  asset  to  the  v/riter.  But 
it  is  far  more  useful  if  flavored  with  the  perusal  of  some  comprehensive  words  of 
philosophy,  science  and  history.  And  to  obtain  the  quintessence  of  value,  every  sort 
and  condition  of  reading  should  be  applied  to  the  mind  of  the  reader  merely  as  grist 
to  a  mill — as  raw  material  to  be  wrought  into  a  finished  product.  Do  not  allow  any 
writer,  regardless  of  fame  or  ability,  to  think  for  you.  Let  them  all  awaken  your  own 
mental  process — then  cast  them  all  aside  and  do  your  own  thinking.  Wide  reading  is 
good,  but  broad  thinking  is  better. 

LIFE  AND  ART. 

13.  We  must  mirror  life,  but  we  must  choose  interesting  and  dramatic  moments 
from  life — unusual,  perhaps,  always  plausible,  never  impossible,  never  boresome  nor 
humdrum.  We  must  abide  by  the  fundamentals  of  technique  of  this  nev/  art,  but  we 
must  have  real  ideas  before  we  start  to  apply  such  fundamentals.  "The  man  who  would 
produce  a  genuine  work  of  art  must  have  conviction  and  not  merely  clever  formulas. 
He  must  believe  in  Life  even  more  than  he  believes  in  Art."  I  do  not  know  the  source 
of  the  above  quotation,  but  it  contains  an  important  truth. 

14.  If  you  will  allow  such  an  item  to  act  as  a  mental  stimulant ;  if  you  will  take  it 
as  a  hypothesis  and  with  your  own  philosophical  analysis,  draw  new  conclusions — either 
take  the  climax  of  the  news  report  as  an  objective  and  invent  new  causes  to  lead  to  it 
or  take  the  causes  contained  in  the  news  article  and  twist  them  into  channels  that  will 
bring  about  a  new  conclusion,  you  will  have  received  the  full  benefit  of  the  opportunity. 
Briefly,  use  the  news  that  you  read  as  a  stimulant  to  your  own  creative  brain,  in  which 
capacity  it  will  be  found  to  be  of  constant  and  inestimable  value. 


42 


CHAPTER  VII 

Suspense 

1.  Suspense  is  the  state  of  uncertainty,  anxiety  or  expectation  that  holds  an 
audience  breathless  and  absorbed.  Conflict  and  struggle  lead  to  suspense — suspense 
is  the  inevitable  result  of  conflict.  Every  dramatic  situation  springs  from  a  conflict 
between  two  principal  directions  of  effort  and  suspense  is  born  of  doubt  as  to  the 
eventual  outcome  of  such  conflict.  In  this  respect  the  photoplay,  the  stage  drama  and 
the  novel  are  directly  related,  for  to  each,  suspense  is  indispensable.  Epes  Winthrop 
Sargent  in  "Technique  of  the  Photoplay,"  states  the  case  tersely: 

2.  "Without  struggle  there  is  nothing  to  arouse  the  interest.  Without  sus- 
pense there  is  nothing  to  hold  it  and  the  greater  the  uncertainty  as  to  the  outcome  the 
greater  will  be  the  sustained  interest.  If  the  result  seems  predetermined  there  can  be 
no  suspense  because  there  can  be  no  question  as  to  the  outcome  of  suspense." 

3.  Looking  about  us  in  real  life  it  becomes  apparent  that  everything  that  arouses 
our  intense  interest  is  founded  upon  conflict  from  which  suspense  is  developed.  What 
is  there  about  a  murder  trial  that  causes  the  multitude  to  eagerly  read  the  newspaper 
accounts  of  its  progress?  The  conflict  between  the  accused  and  the  tightening  web 
of  circumstances;  the  conflict  between  the  counsel  for  the  defense  and  the  prosecuting 
attorney.  As  the  trial  progresses,  suspense  increases  and  culminates  in  the  climax 
which  reaches  its  high  point  when  the  foreman  of  the  jury  reads  the  verdict. 

SUSPENSE   IN    EVERYDAY   LIFE. 

4.  When  we  examine  those  things  which  are  of  every  day  interest  to  us  be- 
cause they  are  founded  upon  conflict,  we  discover  that  they  are  interesting  because  of 
the  suspense  that  is  the  result  of  conflict.  A  baseball  game  or  a  horse  race  holds  one's 
interest  not  because  of  the  physical  superiority  of  the  competing  players  or  horses, 
but  because  of  the  suspense  involved.  The  closer  the  game  or  the  race,  the  greater  the 
doubt  as  to  the  outcome  and  hence  the  higher  the  tension  and  the  more  intense  the 
suspense.  A  one-sided  or  unevenly  matched  game  or  race  is  uninteresting,  because  the 
result  is  a  foregone  conclusion,  and  no  suspense  is  aroused.  Crowds  sit  breathless  at 
automobile  races  and  aeroplane  exhibitions,  almost  rigid  with  suspense,  which  is  born 
not  of  an  admiration  for  the  mechanical  perfection  of  the  engine  nor  the  graceful 
6eauty  of  the  object  hurtling  through  space,  but  because  of  the  doubt  as  to  whether 
the  participant  will  emerge  alive  or  will  be  dashed  to  death. 

It  was  this  same  quality  of  suspense  that  caused  the  throngs  to  stand  spellbound 
when  Blondin  walked  across  Niagara  Falls  on  a  rope.  It  is  suspense  that  holds 
crowds  in  front  of  bulletins  announcing  the  returns  on  election  night.  It  is  suspense 
that  makes  temporary  madmen  of  brokers  on  the  floor  of  stock  exchanges  during  a 
panicky  flurry  of  the  market.  And  so  it  is  suspense  that  holds  the  attention  of  an 
audience  during  the  sixty  to  ninety  minutes  required  for  the  running  of  a  feature 
picture. 

5.  These  examples  are  given  merely  to  convey  to  the  mind  of  the  student  a 
clear  idea  of  exactly  what  suspense  is.  It  must  be  remembered,  however,  that  sus- 
pense has  no  photoplay  value  unless  it  is  dramatic.  The  examples  given  herewith  are 
merely  incidents  from  everyday  life  and  do  not  contain  dramatic  elements.     There  is 

43 


suspense  in  the  case  of  Blondin  walking  across  Niagara  Falls,  but  there  is  no  drama. 
If,  however,  instead  of  a  public  exhibition,  we  had  a  man  crossing  the  rope  in  order 
to  rescue  some  one  who  is  in  peril,  we  would  have  drama,  or  at  least  melodrama. 

The  crowd  in  front  of  the  election  bulletin  supplies  a  mere  incident  in  everyday 
life;  if  we  had  one  of  the  candidates  standing  amongst  the  crowd,  and  the  result  of 
the  election  was  to  be  of  tremendous  importance  in  his  life — either  ruining  him  or 
leading  him  on  to  success  and  happiness — then  we  would  have  the  element  of  drama. 
It  is  the  effect  of  suspense  upon  the  individual  characters  in  a  story  that  leads  to 
drama.  It  will  be  seen,  then,  how  necessarj'  the  various  fundamental  requirements 
of  construction  are  to  each  other.  Suspense,  Characterization,  Drama — these  and 
other  essentials  must  be  well  balanced  in  order  to  create  a  successful  whole. 

SUSPENSE  THE  OUTGROWTH   OF  DOUBT. 

6.  Suspense  arises  from  the  question.  Will  the  fugitive  be  caught?  Will  the 
innocent  man  be  convicted  ?  Will  the  lovers'  quarrel  reach  a  peaceful  and  satisfac- 
tory termination?  Will  the  guilty  escape?  Will  the  innocent  man  be  convicted? 
Will  the  lost  treasure  be  found?  Will  the  imperiled  heroine  be  rescued?  and  a  thou- 
sand and  one  other  uncertainties. 

7.  In  "For  Husbands  Only,"  Toni  determines  to  lead  Van  on  and  then  disappoint 
and  humiliate  him  as  a  means  of  revenge  for  his  treatment  of  her  earlier  in  the  story. 
Suspense  arises  from  the  doubt  as  to  whether  or  not  he  will  outwit  her  and  lead  her 
into  so  compromising  a  position  that  her  faithful  husband  will  cast  her  from  him. 
Step  by  step  the  suspense  increases  until  it  reaches  the  height  of  intensity  at  the  final 
climax. 

8.  Suspense  is  quite  as  necessary  in  comedy  as  it  is  in  drama.  In  "Speed  and 
Suspicion,"  the  entire  story  is  founded  on  the  suspense  surrounding  Clinton's  efforts  to 
escape  arrest.  Every  obstacle  that  is  placed  in  the  path  of  a  hero  or  heroine  adds  to 
the  suspense.  Each  time  that  Clinton  believes  that  he  is  finally  rid  of  the  pursuing 
motorcycle  policeman,  a  new  obstacle  arises  and  the  suspense  is  carried  on.  The 
utility  of  a  situation,  be  it  of  a  dramatic,  melodramatic,  tragic  or  comedic  nature,  is 
to  place  one  or  more  characters  in  an  unpleasant,  dangerous  or  ridiculous  predica- 
ment, the  outcome  of  which  is  kept  in  doubt  as  long  as  possible  in  order  to  maintain 
suspense. 

WELL-BALANCED    CONFLICT. 

9.  The  element  of  conflict  in  your  story  must  be  well-balanced.  You  must  not 
allow  your  hero  or  heroine  to  gain  the  objective  too  easily.  If  you  will  consider  the 
heroes  of  history  and  life  you  will  realize  that  the  men  and  women  who  have  won 
the  admiration  of  their  fellow  beings  are  those  who  have  struggled  against  tremen- 
dous odds  to  overcome  difficulties  and  to  attain  success.  Conflict  is  the  very  essence 
of  drama.  There  is  no  instinct  more  deeply  rooted  in  humanity  than  the  instinct  to 
take  sides  in  a  conflict.  You  must  portray  characters  engaged  in  well-balanced  con- 
flicts, and  you  must  awaken  the  interest  of  the  audience  in  the  efforts  of  j'our  hero  and 
heroine  to  overcome  their  antagonists.  This  principle  is  just  as  true  of  comedy  as 
it  is  of  drama,  except,  of  course,  that  in  comedy  the  conflict  is  amusing. 

10.  The  more  evenly  balanced  the  conflict,  the  greater  will  be  the  doubt  as  to 
the  outcome,  and  the  more  tense  will  be  the  suspense.  What  William  Archer,  in 
"Playmaking,"  says  of  suspense,  or  tension,  as  he  chooses  to  call  it,  applies  just  as 
directly  to  the  photoplay  as  it  does  to  the  stage  drama:  "A  great  part  of  the  secret  of 
dramatic  architecture  lies  in  the  one  word  'tension.'  To  engender,  maintain,  suspend, 
heighten  and  resolve  a  state  of  tension — that  is  the  main  object  of  the  dramatist's 
craft. 

THE  MIND  OF  THE  SPECTATOR. 

11.  "What  do  we  mean  by  tension?     Clearly  a  stretching  out,  a  stretching 

44 


forward,  of  the  mind.  That  is  the  characteristic  mental  attitude  of  the  theatrical 
audience.  If  the  mind  is  not  stretching  forward,  the  body  will  soon  weary  of  its 
immobility  and  constraint.  Attention  may  be  called  the  momentary  correlative  of 
tension.  When  we  are  intent  on  what  is  to  come,  we  are  attentive  to  what  is  there 
and  then  happening.  The  term  tension  is  sometimes  applied,  not  to  the  mental  state 
of  the  audience,  but  to  the  relation  of  the  characters  on  the  stage.  'A  scene  of  high 
tension'  is  primarily  one  in  which  the  actors  undergo  a  great  emotional  strain.  But 
this  is,  after  all,  only  a  means  towards  heightening  the  mental  tension  of  the  audience. 
In  such  a  scene  the  mind  stretches  forward,  no  longer  to  something  vague  and  distant, 
but  to  something  instant  and  imminent." 

12.  In  'Tor  Husbands  Only,"  we  find  Toni  setting  about  to  obtain  revenge 
from  Van  and  teach  him  a  much-needed  lesson — then  follows  a  conflict  of  wits  and 
devices.  Van  is  intent  upon  the  conquest  of  Toni  while  she  is  busily  engaged  in  lead- 
ing him  on  in  order  to  make  his  eventual  disappointment  as  complete  and  bitter  as 
possible.  One  moment  we  feel  assured  that  Toni  is  successfully  leading  Van  to 
humiliation  and  chagrin  and  the  next  moment  we  begin  to  doubt  her  ability  to  with- 
stand the  persistent  and  well-directed  onslaught  of  this  experienced  and  adroit  man 
of  the  world.  The  mind  of  the  audience  stretches  forward  in  an  attempt  to  foresee 
the  outcome  and  the  result  is  a  well-developed  state  of  suspense. 

13.  When  Toni  finds  herself  alone  with  Van  in  an  unfrequented  spot  of  subur- 
ban woodland,  it  seems  for  a  few  moments  as  though  she  may  be  hopelessly  com- 
promised, especially  when  Van  deliberately  tampers  with  the  engine  of  his  car  and 
throws  it  out  of  order.  Here  the  conflict  of  wits  rises  to  a  height  of  suspense  that  is 
in  fact  a  situation.  The  arrival  of  Toni's  car  relieves  the  suspense  temporarily  and 
the  suspense  continues  toward  another  situation  which  supplies  the  climax  of  the  whole 
story. 

APEX   OF   SUSPENSE   IN   CLIMAX. 

14.  This  climactic  situation  comes  about  in  Samuel's  house,  when  he  returns 
from  Van's  play  and  finds  Van  and  Toni  together.  We  have  seen  the  progress  of 
the  play  staged  by  Van  and  which  contains  cleverly-arranged  suggestions  of  intimacy 
between  Van  and  Toni.  We  know  that  Van  presented  the  play  for  the  very  pur- 
pose of  poisoning  Samuel's  mind  and  causing  him  to  cast  Toni  aside  so  that  he.  Van, 
might  win  her  for  himself.  As  Samuel  enters  the  house  where  Van  and  Toni  are 
together,  suspense  reaches  a  high  degree  of  tensity.  The  audience  knows  that  Toni 
is  innocent,  but  there  seems  no  possible  way  for  her  to  explain  to  Samuel.  Apparently 
she  is  hopelessly  trapped. 

15.  In  witnessing  this  production  several  times,  a  sigh  that  was  almost  a  sob, 
came  from  the  audience  on  each  occasion,  and  I  knew  that  every  spectator  was  keyed 
up  almost  to  the  breaking  point.  This  was  exactly  what  Miss  Weber  sought  when 
she  so  manipulated  the  conflict  between  her  characters  as  to  bring  about  this  almost 
unbearable  suspense.  Then  Samuel  spoke  the  subtitle  concerning  his  having  slept 
through  Van's  entire  performance  and  the  climax  was  reached.  As  his  words  were 
flashed  upon  the  screen,  tears  of  gladness  sprang  into  the  eyes  of  the  audience  as  it 
became  evident  that  Toni  was  saved  and  Van  was  utterly  routed. 

16.  A  young  woman  who  sat  next  to  me  at  one  of  these  performances,  and 
who  had  twisted  her  handkerchief  into  a  knot  as  she  winced  and  squirmed  in  her  seat 
as  the  suspense  tightened,  muttered  "Thank  God!"  as  the  climax  was  reached.  As 
the  lights  were  turned  up  and  we  left  the  theatre,  she  was  smiling  through  tears  of 
joy  and  she  was  sharing  that  joy  with  Toni.  Her  gladness  would  not  have  been  half 
so  great,  however,  had  she  not  lived  through  the  suspense  that  preceded  the  happy 
ending  of  the  story. 

45 


DOUBT    MUST    BE   MAINTAINED. 

17.  In  sustaining  suspense,  never  allow  the  final  outcome  to  become  obvious 
or  apparent,  for  the  moment  that  the  audience  "sees  through"  a  story,  interest  is  lost 
and  the  entertaining  qualities  diminish.  Suspense  may  be  physical,  or  it  may  be  more 
of  a  mental  nature,  involving  the  state  of  mind  of  a  character.  Under  the  head  of 
mental  suspense,  we  may  find  such  themes  as  a  man  tempted  to  commit  a  theft,  battling 
with  the  impulse,  swayed  between  right  and  wrong;  or  a  girl  who  hesitates  between 
"the  easiest  way"  and  the  straight  and  narrow  path  of  virtue,  but  the  two,  physical 
and  mental  suspense,  are  so  intermingled  and  necessary  to  each  other  that  the  dis- 
tinction is  of  too  academic  a  nature  to  be  of  consequence  to  the  elementary  student. 
It  is  enough  to  realize  fully  that  suspense  is  an  indispensable  element  of  photoplay 
construction  and  its  skillful  manipulation  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  assets  that  a 
photoplaywright  may  hope  to  possess. 

18.  Careful  judgment  must  be  used  in  avoiding  the  possibility  of  carrying  sus- 
pense too  far.  Henry  Albert  Phillips,  in  "The  Photodrama,"  saj's  pertinently:  "The 
instant  that  the  photoplaywright  feels  that  suspense  is  being  overstrained,  he  should 
bring  it  to  a  close.  The  minor  incidents  of  suspense  are  not  closed,  however,  until 
they  have  disposed  of  themselves  by  contributing  an  element  of  suspense  to  the  main 
theme  that  will  be  felt  in  the  climax  itself,  for,  after  all,  suspense  is  merely  a  sus- 
pension of  the  climax ;  each  suspension  is  marked  by  a  crisis,  or  minor  climax.  We 
sustain  interest  by  suspending  the  climax. 

19.  "In  drama  nothing  should  be  left  to  motiveless  chance,  or  raw  coincident. 
Suspense  is  a  promissorj'  note  to  the  audience  that  the  culmination  they  have  been 
waiting  for  is  worth  while,  and  not  a  hoax  by  the  author  or  a  termination  by  an  'act  of 
God.'  Suspense  is  much  stronger  than  mere  expectation.  We  m.ay  say  that  expecta- 
tion is  the  hope  that  something  will  happen;  suspense  is  the  fear  that  something  may 
or  may  not  happen.  Suspense  is  not  always  occasioned  by  the  emotional  strain  of  the 
character ;  that  is  only  tension  of  action.  If  there  is  an  emotional  strain  on  the 
audience,  then  there  is  sheer  suspense." 


*6 


CHAPTER  VIII 
Unity 

1.  The  unities  of  place,  time  and  action  were  principles  governing  the  structure 

of  drama  derived  by  writers  of  the  French  classical  school  from  Aristotle's  "Poetics". 
As  rigidly  formulated  they  required  that  the  action  of  a  play  should  be  represented  as 
occurring  in  one  place  -vvithin  one  day  and  with  nothing  irrelevant  to  the  plot.  It  is 
not  alwaj's  possible  nor  desirable  to  maintain  a  strict  adherence  to  this  extreme,  but  if  a 
story  is  to  be  coherent  and  consecutively  interesting,  the  unities  must  be  carefully,  if  not 
arbitrarily,  observed.  The  limitations  of  the  photoplay  are  not  so  narrow  as  those  of 
the  speaking  stage  and  the  uses  of  the  unities  of  place,  time  and  action  may  be  permitted 
more  elasticity,  but  must  be  kept  within  the  bounds  of  reason,  nevertheless.  If  the 
action  of  a  photoplay  can  be  kept  in  one  general  locality  and  within  a  brief  space  of 
time,  eliminating  all  extraneous  characters,  its  chances  of  success  are  much  greater  than 
othenvise.     Let  us  deal  with  the  three  unities  separately. 

UNITY  OF  PLACE. 

2.  The  unity  of  place  is  disregarded,  perhaps,  oftener  than  that  of  time  or  action. 
A  story  should  be  told  in  one  city  or  town  or  in  one  general  locality  if  possible,  and  the 
action  should  be  concentrated.  In  no  other  way  can  you  achieve  the  full  effect  of  dra- 
matic intensity.  It  is  quite  natural  for  the  inexperienced  dramatist  to  wander  from  one 
city  to  another  or  even  from  one  continent  to  another  in  telling  a  story.  That  is  the 
easiest  way  and  requires  little  imaginative  skill,  but  if  you  will  analyze  the  photoplays 
that  you  have  seen  which  violated  this  principle  of  unity,  you  will  realize  the  importance 
of  concentration.  The  mere  fact  that  a  principle  is  sometimes  ignored  is  no  reason  for 
neglecting  it.  The  fundamentals  of  construction  are  the  dramatic  heritage  of  mankind 
and  the  novice  violates  them  at  his  peril. 

3.  When  you  have  placed  your  characters  in  a  certain  environment  and  have 
familiarized  the  audience  with  the  locale,  it  is  verj'  confusing  and  disconcerting  to  shift 
the  scene  to  a  distant  place.  It  is  almost  always  possible  to  tell  the  most  complex  story 
in  a  restricted  locale,  and  you  will  find  that  a  story  w-hich  requires  action  scattered  over 
a  wide  area  is  inherently  weak.  Such  successes  as  "For  Husbands  Only,"  "Borrowed 
Clothes,"  "Cheating  Cheaters"  and  "Women's  Weapons"  all  were  confined  within  one 
narrow  locality.  Remember  that  in  unified  dramatic  action  there  is  a  greater  possibility 
for  emotional  intensity. 

4.  We  have  the  story  of  "For  Husbands  Only"  as  an  example.  All  of  the  action 
contained  in  this  six-reel  subject  takes  place  in  one  city  and  its  immediate  suburb.  The 
Country  Club  and  the  lonely  road  taken  by  Van  and  Toni  during  their  automobile 
drive  are  just  beyond  the  edge  of  the  city.  A-ide  from  tlie  few  scenes  contained  in 
these  two  portions  of  the  story,  the  remainder  of  the  action  takes  place  in  three  resi- 
dences— Van's,  Dalton's  and  Samuel's,  after  his  marriage  to  Toni.  Aside  from  this 
there  is  a  brief  flash  of  Toni's  mother  at  the  telephone  in  her  house  and  yet  the  story  is 
strong,  dramatic  and  interesting  throughout,  and  reaches  the  very  height  of  intensity  at 
the  climax. 

5.  In  the  comedy,  "Speed  and  Suspicion,"  the  entire  action  takes  place  in  one 

47 


house  with  a  few  "shots"  of  nearby  streets.  It  is  particularly  desirable  to  pay  strict 
attention  to  the  preservation  of  unity  in  comedy  subjects.  Comedies  are  usually  of  one 
and  two  reel  lengths  and  therefore  should  not  be  interrupted  by  frequent  change  of 
localities.  Every  time  that  j'ou  take  your  characters  to  a  place  distant  from  the  one  in 
which  the  story  begins,  it  necessitates  a  lapse  of  time.  This  must  be  expressed  and 
explained  in  a  subtitle  which  causes  a  break  in  the  smooth  sequence  of  the  story. 

6.  In  many  cases  this  is  unavoidable  but  if  the  story  can  be  told  consecutively 
and  with  no  lapses  of  time,  it  is  preferable.  Some  stories  are  so  strong  in  other  points 
of  interest  that  extreme  lapses  of  time  are  permissible,  but  it  is  well  for  the  beginner 
to  choose  subjects  that  may  be  handled  in  shorter  spaces  of  time.  The  action  of  a 
short  comedy  should  almost  invariably  take  place  in  one  day.  Always  try  to  have  your 
story,  comedy  or  drama,  move  along  in  as  nearly  consecutive  and  unbroken  sequence  as 
possible. 

7.  In  "Gates  of  Brass"  we  have  a  strong  drama  which  centers  in  the  wonderfully 
human  characterization  of  J.  Hatfield  Blake,  which  was  played  by  Frank  Keenan. 
The  opening  of  the  story  is  in  the  nature  of  a  prologue,  revealing  to  the  audience  a 
portion  of  the  life  of  Blake  which  took  place  twelve  years  before  the  real  beginning  of 
the  story.  In  this  case  there  was  value  in  showing  Blake  as  a  circus  "sure  thing" 
gambler,  because  this  period  of  his  life  throws  an  explanatory  light  on  the  events  that 
came  to  pass  after  he  became  a  well-dressed  and  "high-class"  crook,  dealing  in  large 
sums  of  money  rather  than  the  small  change  that  came  to  him  from  the  loiterers  around 
the  circus  tent. 

8.  After  the  few  scenes  on  the  circus  ground  and  at  the  little  hotel  where  Blake 
and  his  daughter  are  stopping,  we  find  the  father  and  the  grown-up  girl  in  quite  dif- 
ferent surroundings,  and  there  are  other  changes  of  locale  throughout  the  remainder 
of  the  story  necessitated  by  the  unfolding  of  the  character  of  Blake  and  its  detailed 
interpretation. 

9.  "Gates  of  Brass"  was  a  successful  photoplay,  in  spite  of  its  lack  of  complete 
unity,  because  of  its  human  characterizations  and  intense  situations.  Had  it  been 
possible  to  tell  the  story  in  one  locality  and  without  any  elapses  of  time,  it  would  have 
been  better  to  have  done  so.  As  the  story  stands  there  is  a  direct  reason  for  every 
change  of  locality  and  for  every  time  lapse  thus  necessitated. 

10.  In  a  story  of  this  nature,  we  must  look  upon  the  action  in  its  separate  sections. 
It  is  as  though  a  stage  production  were  divided  into  separate  acts,  dividing  the  story 
into  definite  dramatic  sections,  in  each  of  which  the  unity  must  be  preserved.  In  "Gates 
of  Brass,"  we  must  consider  that  period  of  Blake's  life  in  which  the  story  starts  as  one 
section.  There  the  unity  is  admirable.  Then,  after  the  lapse  of  twelve  years,  we  are 
dealing  with  a  new  section  of  the  story,  and,  regardless  of  the  break  caused  by  the 
lapse  of  time,  we  start  upon  a  new  portion  of  the  story  in  which  the  unity  must  be 
preserved. 

11.  Many  stories  cannot  be  told  in  running  time  (in  the  time  necessary  to  run 
them  through  a  projecting  machine  and  throw  them  upon  the  screen),  but,  if  in  such 
cases  the  author  pays  close  attention  to  the  element  of  unity  in  the  separate  sections 
into  which  the  story  must  necessarily  be  divided,  the  construction  will  be  kept  within 
the  limit  of  safe  technique.  Frequt-i.ily  stories  are  made  weak  and  valueless  on  account 
of  jumping  from  one  locality  to  another  without  nny  reason  for  so  doing.  I  have  found 
in  criticising  stories  submitted  by  Palmer  Plan  members  that  many  beginners,  in  their 
efforts  to  maintain  action  and  keep  their  characters  moving,  lose  sight  of  the  necessity 
of  concentration  and  go  from  city  to  city  and  continent  to  continent,  introducing  long 
railroad  journeys  and  steamship  voyages,  when  the  story  could  much  better  be  told  in 
one  city  or  at  least  in  one  general  locality. 

12.  Let  it  be  remembered  then  that  the  action  of  your  story  should  be  confined 
to  as  small  an  area  as  possible  and  that  there  must  be  an  excellent  reason  for  moving 
your  characters  from  one  general  locality  to  another. 

4S 


UNITY  OF  TIME. 

13.  The  preservation  of  the  unity  of  time  is  quite  as  important  as  that  of  the 
unity  of  place.  The  ideal  photoplay  is  undoubtedly  one  in  which  the  action  is  consecu- 
tive and  in  which  the  screen  running  time  is  identical  with  the  time  of  the  action.  This 
ideal  is  rarely  attained  except  in  one  and  two  reel  pictures.  It  is  frequently  necessary 
to  show  the  lapse  of  a  few  hours,  a  few  days  or  even  a  few  months  in  a  photoplay  and 
sometime,  as  in  "Gates  of  Brass,"  the  author  is  compelled  to  deal  with  the  lapse  of 
years.     Long  and  frequent  time  lapses  should  be  scrupulously  avoided,  however. 

Make  every  incident  of  your  plot  count  and  avoid  unnecessary  lapses  of  time  which 
must  be  spanned  by  boresome  subtitles.  In  general  you  will  find  that  a  story  which 
necessitates  lapses  of  time  in  the  telling  is  not  as  interesting  and  dramatic  as  one  which 
is  more  closely  knit  together  and  more  carefully  concentrated.  In  a  novel  the  rambling 
leisurely  method  of  narration  is  allowable,  but  on  the  screen  the  plot  is  starkly  revealed 
and  it  must  be  strong,  intense  and  cumulative  to  hold  the  spectator's  interest. 

14.  In  "For  Husbands  Only,"  we  find  an  admirable  use  of  the  unity  of  time 
as  well  as  of  place  and  action.  Up  to  scene  170  there  is  no  time  lapse  whatever. 
Then  a  lapse  of  several  months  is  covered  by  two  newspaper  inserts  and  there  is  no 
lapse  until  scene  194,  when  a  fade-out  and  fade-in  cover  the  passing  of  a  half-hour. 
Between  scenes  234  and  235  there  is  a  lapse  from  afternoon  to  the  same  evening. 
From  scene  267  to  268  several  days  pass.  After  this  there  are  a  few  little  indefinite 
lapses,  but  the  whole  si.\-reel  story  is  told  within  a  few  months  and  as  has  been  pre- 
viously noted,  in  one  city  and  its  environs. 

15.  The  comedy,  "Speed  and  Suspicion,"  contains  no  lapse  of  time  whatever,  the 
entire  story  being  told  in  the  same  length  of  time  that  is  required  to  show  it  on  the 
screen.  This  perfect  unity  of  time  and  place  is  particularly  desirable  in  a  one-reel 
story  of  this  sort. 

16.  It  is  frequently  necessary  to  show  lapses  of  a  few  hours  or  a  day  or  so  or 
perhaps  a  few  weeks  or  months  and  in  some  cases,  such  as  the  space  between  the  pro- 
logue and  the  central  story  of  "Gates  of  Brass,"  the  lapse  of  years  is  unavoid- 
able. Frequent  time  lapses  and  time  lapses  of  too  great  length  are  exceedingly 
undesirable,  however,  and  should  be  studiously  avoided.  Every  time  that  you  show  an 
lapse  of  many  months  or  several  years  you  are  to  a  certain  extent  stopping  and  starting 
your  story  all  over  again.  You  have  established  certain  conditions  in  the  minds  of 
your  audience — then  when  you  jump  out  of  these  conditions  to  a  later  period  you  are 
necessitating  a  readjustment  of  their  thoughts.  In  presenting  a  continuous  picture  to 
your  audience,  instead  of  interrupting  it  with  time  lapses  and  changes  of  locale,  it  is 
much  easier  to  hold  the  attention  and  interest.  Ordinarily  the  climax  of  a  photoplay 
deals  with  a  crisis  in  the  life  of  a  character  or  in  the  lives  of  several  characters,  and 
the  story  leading  up  to  such  a  climax  deals  with  a  series  of  minor  situations  or  crises. 
The  more  closely  woven,  concentrated  and  consecutive  such  a  story  be,  the  more  easily 
it  will  be  understood  and  the  more  enjoyed  by  the  audience. 

UNITY  OF  .-VCTION. 

17.  To  attain  unity  of  action,  it  is  necessary  to  omit  and  exclude  all  matters  not 
directly  contributory  to  the  central  theme  and  not  having  a  more  or  less  direct  bearing 
upon  the  eventual  great  crisis  which  constitutes  the  climax.  In  "For  Husbands  Only" 
the  unity  of  action  is  quite  as  perfect  as  the  unities  of  place  and  time.  The  greater 
portion  of  the  story  concerns  just  three  people — Toni,  Van  and  Samuel.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Dalton,  Toni's  mother  and  the  minor  characters  are  necessary  only  in-so-far  as  they 
assist  in  the  progress  of  the  events  in  the  lives  of  the  three  principal  characters  that  go 
to  make  up  this  six-reel  photodrama.  A  careless  or  more  immature  playwright  would 
probably  have  dragged  in  other  characters  and  included  little  sub-plots  that  would  have 
detracted  from  the  dramatic  intensity  of  the  storj'  that  deals  with  these  two  men  and 
a  girl. 

49 


18.  In  "Speed  and  Suspicion"  practically  the  whole  story  deals  with  Clinton, 
Barrow  and  the  motorcycle  policeman.  Barrow's  sweetheart  and  Mrs.  Syx  appear 
merely  to  strengthen  the  story  that  is  being  told  of  these  three  men.  "Gates  of  Brass" 
is  the  story  of  the  character  development  of  one  man,  J.  Hatfield  Blake.  The  love  story 
of  his  daughter  and  Dick  Wilbur  has  a  direct  bearing  on  this  character  development 
as  have  all  of  the  other  principal  characters.  More  people  take  part  in  this  photo- 
drama  than  in  "For  Husbands  Only,"  but  everything  that  they  do  directly  concerns 
J.  Hatfield  Blake  and  the  eventual  recoil  of  his  evil  deeds  upon  himself,  culminating  in 
his  miserable  death. 

It  is  plain,  then,  that  all  unnecessary  sub-plots  and  extraneous  characters  should 
be  excluded  from  a  story,  for  they  serve  only  to  detract  from  the  strength  of  the  central 
theme.  Suspense  cannot  be  strengthened  nor  sustained  by  dragging  in  little  side  stories. 
Such  wandering  away  from  the  main  theme  or  central  thought  in  no  way  strengthens  a 
story,  but  rather  scatters  the  interest  and  leaves  the  audience  with  a  group  of  vague  ideas 
rather  than  with  one  distinct,  clear-cut  impression. 

19.  A  successful  photodrama  is  a  great  truth  simply  told  and  the  simplicity  will 
be  intensified  by  the  close  adherence  to  the  unities  of  time,  place  and  action. 


SO 


CHAPTER  IX 

Contributory  Factions 

1.  Every  story  is  written  around  one  predominant  character — right  at  the  start 
we  must  have  a  "hero"  or  a  "heroine,"  but  there  must  be  other  characters  or  there  can 
be  no  conflict,  no  situation,  no  suspense,  and  hence,  no  plot.  There  have  been  some  excep- 
tions to  this  rule,  but  they  are  so  rare  as  to  stand  out  as  freaks.  Charlie  Chaplin  in 
"One  A.  M."  was  a  one-man  production.  It  was  the  farce-comedy  story  of  a  man 
coming  home  late  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  and  it  consisted  of  his  attempt  to  get  to  bed 
in  spite  of  his  nearly  helpless  condition.  In  this  case  there  was  an  element  of  struggle 
— the  struggle  of  a  man  against  the  stupors  of  alcoholism — his  conflict  with  obstacles  to 
his  successful  progress  from  a  taxi,  up  the  steps  to  his  door,  through  the  intervening 
rooms,  and  to  his  bed.  The  result,  however,  was  a  sequence  of  ludicrous  incidents 
rather  than  a  well  constructed  story. 

2.  In  the  tale  of  Robinson  Crusoe  we  have  the  struggle  of  one  man  against 
nature;  first  his  desperate  conflict  with  the  sea,  then  his  struggle  to  obtain  food  and 
shelter;  his  struggle  against  wild  beasts;  cold  and  hunger.  Even  in  this  tale  the  author 
found  it  necessary  to  introduce  the  character  of  Friday  and  a  group  of  unfriendly 
savages ;  it  is  not  a  truly  one-man  story  after  all.  So  we  must  have,  not  only  a  principal 
character,  but  others. 

THE  DRAMATIC  TRIAD. 

3.  First,  we  must  have  a  dramatic  triad — the  "eternal  three,"  a  lover,  the  girl 
whom  he  loves,  and  a  rival.  A  married  man,  his  wife  and  "the  other  man"  or  "the  other 
woman."  Or  perhaps  a  lover,  the  girl  and  her  objecting  father  or  mother.  If  the  story 
concerns  a  subject  other  than  love,  there  must  still  be  at  least  three  "factions,"  to  use 
the  term  common  to  the  parlance  of  the  professional  photoplaywright.  Two  men  and 
one  woman — two  women  and  one  man — but  always  at  least  three.  There  may  be 
others  who  also  appear  in  a  contributory  way,  but  the  central  theme  vitally  concerns 
three.  Perhaps  there  may  be  a  condition,  an  influence  or  a  passion  that  enters  largely 
into  the  story.    A  man  may  struggle  against  poverty  to  win  fame. 

THE   THREE   CORNERS. 

The  three  corners  of  the  triangle  in  this  case  are  the  Man,  Poverty,  and  Fame. 
There  may  be  a  hard-hearted  landlord  who  threatens  to  dispossess  the  Man,  who,  let  us 
say,  is  an  artist  working  on  what  he  hopes  will  be  a  masterpiece.  The  authority,  upon 
whose  word  the  picture  is  to  be  exhibited  ir.  the  National  Academy,  may  have  a 
daughter  who  learns  of  the  artist's  poverty  and  ambition,  and  visits  his  studio  to  offer 
him  money  with  which  to  pay  his  rent,  and  so  enable  him  to  proceed  with  his  work  and 
pursue  his  way  toward  fame.  Her  father  may  see  her  going  into  the  place  and  follow, 
accusing  them  of  impropriety.  His  fair  judgment  of  the  picture  may  thus  be  biased. 
Eventually  the  conditions  may  be  explained  to  him,  the  picture  awarded  first  prize, 
upon  which  the  artist  wins  the  fame  that  he  sought.  Regardless  of  the  contributory 
characters  the  story  was,  fundamentally,  one  of  the  Man  struggling  against  Povery  to 
win  Fame.    This  is  a  hackneyed  subject,  but  serves  merely  as  an  example. 

TWO   EXAMPLES. 

4.  In  "For  Husbands  Only"  we  have  Toni,  Van,  and  Samuel  as  the  three  corners 

51 


of  the  triangle.  In  "Gates  of  Brass,"  which  is  more  definitely  the  story  of  a  single 
characterization,  we  have  Blake,  his  instinct  of  dishonesty  and  his  love  for  his  daughter 
as  the  three  corners.  John  Wilbur,  his  son  Dick  and  the  various  characters  are  all  con- 
tributory to  this  central  theme — the  man,  his  good  nature,  and  his  bad  nature.  As  a 
sub-plot  we  might  consider  the  love  of  Dick  Wilbur  and  Margaret,  and  the  obstacle  of 
Blake's  dishonest  reputation.  Instead  of  creating  divided  interest  and  detracting  from 
the  central  thought,  this  love  story  of  the  boy  and  the  girl  contribute  directly  to  Blake's 
struggle  between  his  two  besetting  inclinations. 

THE  TRIAD  IN   COMEDY. 

5.  In  "Speed  and  Suspicion"  we  have  a  farce-comedy  plot  of  exceeding  lightness 
and  yet  the  three  corners  of  the  story  are  clear  and  distinct — Clinton  at  one  point. 
Freedom  at  another,  and  Thirty  Days  In  Jail  at  the  third.  In  every  criminal  court 
trial  we  have  the  accused,  the  prosecuting  attorney  and  the  counsel  for  the  defense. 

6.  The  analysis  of  any  photoplay  will  reveal  a  dramatic  triad  around  which  the 
story  is  woven.  The  establishment  of  such  a  triad  at  the  beginning  of  a  story,  and  a 
close  adherence  to  events  only  which  concern  that  triad,  will  do  much  to  preserve  unity 
of  action.  In  "For  Husbands  Only,"  Van,  Toni,  and  Samuel  are  introduced  to  the 
audience  in  scenes  3,  4,  and  5,  and  the  several  hundred  scenes  that  follow  directly 
concern  these  three  corners  of  the  triangle. 

FACTIONAL  GROUPS. 

7.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  principal  characters  of  a  photoplay  need  be 
limited  to  three,  however.  We  may  have  three  general  factions,  each  of  which  may 
include  any  reasonable  number  of  characters.  Our  "villain"  may  have  one  or  more 
accomplices,  and  our  "hero"  several  true  friends  who  come  to  his  assistance  in  a  moment 
of  peril.  The  two  men  who  aid  Van  in  his  treachery  during  the  early  part  of  "For 
Husbands  Only"  are  a  part  of  the  "villainous"  faction  of  the  story.  Had  one  of  these 
two  men  been  indignant  at  Van's  suggestion  to  assist  him  in  his  treachery,  and  had  he 
endeavored  to  prevent  its  accomplishment,  he  would  have  immediately  become  a  part  of 
Samuel's  faction. 

8.  "Gates  of  Brass"  is  an  example  of  a  photoplay  in  which  the  characters  are  not 
so  distinctly  divided  into  three  factions,  yet  it  will  be  observed  that  no  character  is 
dragged  into  the  story  unnecessarily,  and  that  every  character  more  or  less  directly 
concerns  Blake's  wavering  between  his  innate  dishonesty  and  his  great  love  for  his- 
daughter. 


52 


PART  TWO 


Putting    the    Fundamentals    into     Practice 


Visualization 

De  Mille's  Rules 

Other  Values 

Drama 

Comedy 

Evolving  a  Plot 

Checking    up    Details 


53 


THE  DREAMERS 

Are  you  a  dreamer  ? 

Most  of  the  things  which  make  life  worth  living,  which  have  emancipated  man 
from  drudgery  and  lifted  him  above  commonness  and  ugliness — the  great  amenities  of 
life — we  owe  to  our  dreamers. 

Take  the  dreamers  out  of  the  world's  history  and  who  would  care  to  read  it? 
It  is  a  splendid  thing  to  dream  when  you  have  the  grit  and  tenacity  of  purpose  and  the 
resolution  to  match  your  dreams  with  realities,  but  dreaming  without  eflort,  wishing 
without  putting  forth  exertion  to  realize  the  wish,  undermines  the  character.  It  is  only 
practical  dreaming  that  counts — dreaming  coupled  with  hard  work  and  persistent 
endeavor. 

Do  not  stop  dreaming.    Encourage  your  visions.    Cherish  your  dreams. 

Orison  Swett  Marden. 


CHAPTER  X 

Visualization 

1.  It  is  astounding  that  this  vital  factor  in  the  creation  of  screen  fiction  has 
received  practically  no  mention  in  the  books  or  magazine  articles  that  have  from  time 
to  time  dealt  with  the  subject  of  the  photoplay.  Yet  I  know  of  no  single  element  that 
is  of  greater  importance.  Visualization  is  the  act  or  the  power  of  forming  visual 
images,  or  the  mental  representations  of  objects  not  present  to  the  sense.  It  might  be 
said  to  be  the  act  of  turning  a  spotlight  on  inspiration.  How  frequently  during  my 
studio  experience  have  I  come  upon  a  staff  writer  and  a  director  discussing  a  story 
still  in  the  process  of  construction  or  some  separate  portion  of  a  completed  story. 
Perhaps  one  would  be  stating  his  views  on  the  situation  and  both  would  be  sitting 
with  their  eyes  tightly  closed  and  muscles  relaxed.  They  were  visualizing.  They 
were  seeing  menial  moving-pictures.  Every  bit  of  action  that  the  speaker  was  de- 
scribing was  being  thrown  upon  a  screen,  as  it  were,  in  the  mind  of  each.  They  were 
oblivious  to  everything  except  the  one  thread  of  thought  that  they  were  intently  fol- 
lowing. Possibly  the  busy  activities  of  the  studio  were  going  on  all  about  them. 
Many  persons  were  passing  to  and  fro  on  every  side.  These  two  were  present  in 
body,  but  their  minds,  reposing  on  the  magic  carpet  of  visualization,  were  following 
the  course  of  the  story  that  was  being  told. 

One  who  has  not  accustomed  himself  to  this  practice  will  require  training,  and 
let  me  step  out  of  the  discussion  of  photoplays  just  long  enough  to  say  that  the  time 
spent  in  exercises  of  the  imagination  will  not  be  wasted,  whether  or  not  you  ever 
apply  yourself  to  the  creation  of  screen  stories.    Frank  Channing  Haddock  says: 

THE  CULTURE  OF  IMAGINATION. 

2.  "The  highest  imagination  involves  all  the  powers  of  the  mind.  Willed  cul- 
ture of  imagination  secures  its  greatest  efficiency.  The  steadfast  application  of  imagi- 
nation highly  cultured  to  the  concerns  of  life  requires  the  best  and  strongest  exercises 
of  will  power.  That  means  the  mighty  will  developed  all  round."  Hence,  in  devot- 
ing some  of  your  spare  time  and  effort  to  visualization,  you  are  serving  a  definite  pur- 
pose. You  are  training  the  imagination  for  purposes  of  fictional  creation  and  you  are 
pursuing  as  well  the  education  of  the  deepest  self  in  the  interest  of  reason,  judgment 
and  right  motives  in  life. 

3.  To  train  yourself  in  the  practice  of  visualization,  start  by  seeking  isolation, 
for,  at  first,  the  mind  will  be  easily  disturbed  by  sound  and  movement.  Go  to  a  se- 
cluded spot,  close  the  eyes  and  recall  a  room  in  your  home  or  elsewhere.  Imagine  that 
you  are  standing  in  a  doorway  looking  into  it.  Try  to  see  it  in  your  mind  as  clearly 
as  though  it  were  actually  before  you.  Mentally  examine  every  piece  of  furniture, 
every  picture  and  ornament.  If  there  be  a  bookcase,  try  to  read  the  titles  of  the  books 
in  the  order  of  their  arrangement. 

Attempt  only  one  room  at  a  time,  and  choose,  if  possible,  a  room  that  you  have 
not  visited  that  day  or  for  several  days.  Now  go  to  that  room  and  inspect  it  in 
actuality.  Ascertain  what  objects  you  overlooked  in  your  visualization  pM  how 
wrong  you  were  as  to  the  arrangement  of  the  articles  of  furniture,  pictures  nnd  orna- 
ments in  your  mental  image  of  the  room.     Repeat  this  process  as  mn'u   times  during 

55 


the  first  day  as  other  demands  upon  your  time  will  permit,  visualizing  a  different 
room  each  time. 

PROGRESS  THROUGH  PRACTICE. 

4.  After  the  third  or  fourth  trial,  you  will  begin  to  notice  an  improvement  in 
the  clarity  of  your  mental  images.  If  you  find  that  your  process  is  slow,  devote  sev- 
eral days  to  a  repetition  of  this  exercise.  When  you  have  arrived  at  a  fair  degree  of 
exactitude  in  recalling  in  detail  the  inanimate  contents  of  a  room,  devoting  one  or 
several  days  to  practicing  this  simple  exercise  of  visualization,  start  "peopling"  your 
rooms.  Let  us  say  that  you  have  visualized  a  kitchen.  When  you  have  recalled  the 
contents  and  checked  up  your  visualization  by  a  personal  visit,  return  to  a  quiet  place 
at  a  distance  or  in  an  adjoining  room  and  after  having  again  summoned  a  mental 
vision  of  the  kitchen,  imagine  that  a  familiar  occupant  is  present. 

Recall  a  relative  or  acquaintance  whom  you  have  seen  at  work  there.  The  room 
being  a  kitchen,  it  is  probably  a  woman.  Follow  her  consecutive  action  as  she  goes 
about  some  familiar  task.  She  takes  an  apron  from  a  hook,  adjusts  it  to  her  person, 
picks  up  cooking  utensils,  opens  a  cupboard  and  takes  out  food,  preparing  it  for  the 
table.     Do  not  allow  your  mind  to  drift — do  not  indulge  in  lazy  revery. 

ADDING  CHARACTERS. 

5.  Will  that  the  character  in  your  visualization  performs  movements  as  you 
mentally  command.  Repeat  this  practice  with  mental  images  of  other  rooms  or  of 
exterior  locations.  When  you  have  reached  a  satisfactory  degree  of  perfection  in 
visualizing  one  character,  advance  to  two  or  more  persons.  Follow  in  a  state  of  clear, 
distinct  imagination  their  movements  and  finally  visualize  their  facial  expressions. 
Invent  some  commonplace  occurrences.  Will  that  one  drops  a  dish  and  it  breaks. 
The  other  flies  into  anger  and  compels  the  first  to  pick  up  the  fragments. 

Visualize  not  only  the  actions  of  each,  but  the  expressions  of  surprise  as  the  dish 
strikes  the  floor — the  dismay  of  the  one  and  the  anger  of  the  other.'  Continue  this 
practice  with  as  great  a  variety  of  locations  as  possible.  Gradually  add  characters  to 
your  mental  scenes  until  you  find  yourself  able  to  visualize  a  ball-room  with  a  large 
number  of  people,  mentally  looking  into  the  faces  of  each,  one  at  a  time.  Then 
single  out  one  person  in  the  multitude.  Compel  the  others  to  exit  from  the  scene, 
leaving  that  one  person  remaining. 

Will  that  this  individual  walks  toward  you,  visualizing  his  face  as  he  approaches, 
bringing  him  to  within  a  few  feet  of  you.  Note  the  increasing  clearness  with  which 
you  view  his  expression.  Now  mentally  accompany  him  out  of  the  ball-room,  passing 
through  several  other  rooms  in  succession,  noting  carefully  the  contents  or  occupants 
of  each  as  you  go.  Make  all  of  your  visualizations  as  real  and  distinct  as  life  itself. 
From  these  suggestive  examples  elaborate  at  your  own  will.  Vary  these  exercises 
by  practicing  them  in  noisy  places,  forcibly  holding  your  visualization  in  spite  of 
diverting  elements.  Try  it  in  a  vacant  room  with  the  eyes  wide  open,  staring  at  a 
blank  wall  and  summoning  the  visualization  as  though  it  were  on  a  moving-picture 
screen. 

THE    MONARCH,    MIND. 

6.  Start  visualizing  in  a  passive  mood,  allowing  a  strain  of  music,  or  the  odor  of 
a  fiowei ,  or  the  sound  of  rain,  or  the  sea,  or  the  wind,  or  a  human  voice  to  lead  your 
unreined  imagination  where  it  will.  Woo  inspiration.  Allow  a  new  thought  to  find 
being  in  your  mind.  Then  resume  control.  Become  master  of  your  visualization. 
bringing  logic  and  reason  into  action.  Adopt  the  sub-conscious  thought  or  inspiration 
and  clothe  it  with  logical  invention.  Persist  in  these  exercises  with  whatever  varia- 
tions you  may  originate  for  yourself  and  in  a  short  time  you  will  experience  the  magic 
of  becoming  monarch  of  the  limitless  domain  of  your  own  imagination. 

S6 


When  you  have  succeeded  in  recalling  actual  experiences  clearly  and  in  detail, 
you  will  have  acquired  the  habit  of  visualization  and  will  be  equipped  with  a  founda- 
tion for  creative  work.  Continue  the  practice  of  visualization  indefinitely.  Do  not 
merely  dream.  Think!  Use  your  will  power.  Keep  alert.  As  your  progress  con- 
tinues you  will  be  delightfully  surprised  at  the  ever-increasing  facility  with  which 
you  step  out  of  the  world  of  the  actual  into  the  realms  of  visualization.  Never  be 
aimless.  Banish  all  extraneous  thought  or  intruding  images,  maintaining  resolute 
control.     Be  definite. 

BANISH  MENT.^VL  LAZINESS. 

7.  Control  your  imagination  except  when  you  want  it  to  drift  for  a  brief 
space  seeking  a  new  vein  of  thought.  Never  allow  your  mind  to  be  lazy  except  when 
you  purposely  relax  and  remain  passive  for  purposes  of  rest  and  recuperation.  Un- 
trained visualization  is  as  natural  as  breath.  It  is  a  mental  attribute  possessed  of 
every  degree  of  intellect,  but  it  is  as  useless  as  the  brain  itself  would  be  were  it  allowed 
to  remain  undeveloped  through  lack  of  exercise  and  training. 

8.  Marguerite  Bertsch  says:  "Try  to  recall,  after  listening  to  some  vivid  nar- 
ration the  identical  words  of  the  speaker.  You  will  find,  then,  that  you  have  not 
been  listening  to  words,  but  rather  that  you  have  been  following  scenes  that  were 
to  you  so  real  and  engrossing  as  to  have  blotted  out  even  the  consciousness  of  your 
immediate  surroundings.  Indeed,  so  prevalent  is  this  forming  of  mental  pictures 
that  it  is  impossible  to  surprise  the  mind  at  any  one  moment  when  it  is  not  thinking 
in  the  sequence  of  innumerable  pictures  following  one  after  the  other."  But  if  the 
imagination  is  not  trained,  and  if  visualization  is  disconnected  and  aimless,  nothing  is 
gained. 

To  quote  again  Frank  Channing  Haddock: 

9.  "Though  creative  imagination  is  one  of  the  mind's  most  wonderful  qualities, 
yet  nowhere  in  school  or  college  do  we  find  systematic  instruction  in  this  art.  All  the 
way  from  primeval  man — through  the  swing  of  the  centuries  and  the  upward  march 
of  mankind,  the  imagination  has  been  the  basis  of  progress.  As  a  writer  on  psychology' 
puts  it: 

IMAGINATION   CONQUERS  ALL. 

10.  "  'The  products  of  the  constructive  imagination  have  been  the  only  stepping 
stones  for  material  progress.  The  constructive  imagination  of  early  man,  aided  by 
thought,  began  to  conquer  the  world.  When  the  winter  cold  came,  the  imagination 
pictured  the  skin  of  the  animal  on  the  human  body.     Will  power  going  out  in  action 

merely  made  that  image  a  reality The  chimney,  the  stove,  the  stage-coach, 

the    locomotive,    are   successive   milestones,   showing    the    progressive    march    of    the 
imagination.' 

11.  "Every  time  we  tell  a  story  clearly  so  as  to  impress  the  details  on  the  mind 
of  others,  every  time  we  describe  a  place  or  a  landscape  vividly,  every  time  we  relate 
what  we  have  read  in  a  book  of  travels  so  as  to  arouse  definite  images  in  the  minds 
of  our  hearers — we  are  cultivating  imagination.  It  is  e-\cellent  training  for  a  person 
to  attempt  to  describe  to  others  a  meadow,  a  grove,  an  orchard,  the  course  of  a  brook, 
the  sky  at  sunrise,  the  starry  heavens.  If  his  description  is  not  heavy,  like  unleav- 
ened bread,  the  liveliness  will  be  due  to  the  activity  of  his  imagination." 

12.  When  you  come  to  the  actual  work  of  plot  invention  and  building  you 
will  find  that  the  habit  of  visualization  is  indispensable.  Instead  of  working  with 
pencil  and  paper  you  will  create  your  stor>'  in  your  mind,  visualizing  each  scene  and 
sequence  as  your  story  grows.  The  trained  writer  does  not  put  a  word  on  paper  until 
he  has  first  visualized  his  story  from  start  to  finish.  Typewriting  the  completed 
work  is  merely  the  mechanical  means  of  memorandum,  or,  if  the  writer  is  satisfied 
that  no  improvement  can  be  made,  is  the  means  of  conveying  his  idea  to  a  distant 
editor.     But  the  creative  and  constructive  work  is  all  mental. 

57 


The  mental  exercises  that  I  have  set  forth  in  the  preceding  pages  and  any  elabo- 
ration of  them  that  may  suggest  themselves  to  you  may  seem  childish  and  futile  at 
first  thought,  but  my  own  experience  tells  me  that  such  means  of  compelling  visualiza- 
tion to  become  a  habit  will  be  found  to  be  worth  all  the  time  and  mental  energy  con- 
sumed therein.  And  that  this  habit  of  visualization  can  be  acquired  there  is  no 
doubt.  Henrj'  Albert  Phillips,  the  only  author,  to  my  knowledge,  who  has  given 
the  subject  anything  more  than  a  passing  mention,  says: 

KEYNOTE   OF    PHOTOPLAY    WRITING. 

13.  "Technique  and  rules,  idea  and  action  are  as  chaff  on  the  threshing  floor 
of  the  photodrama,  compared  to  visualization,  which  is  the  precious  kernel  to  be 
sought.    Visualization  is  both  the  key  and  the  keynote  of  all  photoplay  writing." 

14.  Miss  Lois  Weber,  director  of  'Tor  Husbands  Only,"  and  many  other 
notable  successes  and  generally  regarded  as  one  of  the  half  dozen  greatest  photoplay 
directors  in  the  world,  says:  "If  I  cannot  visualize  my  play  in  its  entirety  before  I 
start,  I  do  not  start,  because  I  know  it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  to  finish  it." 
Such  a  statement  coming  from  Miss  Weber  carries  peculiar  weight  and  value  and  yet 
it  is  no  more  than  every  producer,  director  and  photoplay-author,  who  has  made  a 
genuine  success,  knows. 

15.  A  full  realization  of  the  fact  that  action  is  that  of  which  photoplays  are 
built,  and  that  visualization  is  as  indispensable  to  the  work  of  plot-building  as  a  com- 
pass to  a  mariner,  or  wings  to  a  bird,  is  a  substantial  start  on  the  road  to  success  in 
photoplay  writing. 

16.  The  power  of  visualization  is  a  birthright,  but  its  value  to  the  possessor 
depends  upon  the  extent  of  its  trained  development ;  it  is  when  it  becomes  "second 
nature"  that  it  is  an  invaluable  and  effective  tool  of  the  creative  thinker. 

17.  Do  not  allow  yourself  to  become  discouraged  if  at  first  you  encounter 
some  difficulty  in  visualizing  clearly  and  effectively.  The  work  of  creating  screen 
fiction  is  mental.  Therefore,  the  mind  must  be  exercised  and  kept  active  and  elastic. 
The  laborer  whose  work  is  purely  physical  develops  his  muscles  in  order  to  meet  un- 
usual demands  upon  his  physical  strength.  A  watch  maker  may  have  the  finest  set  of 
tools  in  the  world,  but  if  he  be  not  possessed  of  developed  muscles  of  a  more  minutely 
responsive  quality  than  the  laborer,  he  will  not  achieve  the  necessar)'  adroitness  and 
deftness  of  touch  that  makes  him  a  master  artisan. 

18.  I  may  convey  to  you  all  the  rules  and  regulations  of  photoplay  plot  con- 
struction, but  unless  your  mind  is  trained  to  utilize  them  you  will  never  write  success- 
ful photoplays.  Visualization  is  an  exceedingly  necessary  part  of  such  training.  Any 
mental  exercise  that  serves  to  quicken  the  perception  and  develop  the  imagination  is 
useful,  however,  in  an  auxiliary  sense. 

COLUMBIA    UNIVERSITY  TESTS. 

19.  The  faculty  of  Columbia  University  in  New  York  submits  all  applicants 
for  entrance  to  a  set  of  tests  in  addition  to  the  regular  entrance  examination.  Two 
of  these  tests  which  apply  to  the  visual  imagination  may  be  of  interest  here. 

20.  The  teacher  takes  a  piece  of  paper  about  six  inches  square,  folds  it  once 
over  in  the  middle,  then  folds  it  again  in  the  middle.  Then  he  takes  scissors  and  cuts 
out  a  small  notch  from  the  side  which  presents  but  one  edge.  He  throws  the  frag- 
ment which  has  been  cut  out  into  the  waste  basket  or  under  the  table,  leaves  the 
folded  paper  exposed  to  view,  but  pressed  flat  against  the  table.  Then  he  gives  the 
subject  a  pencil  and  sheet  of  paper  and  says: 

21.  "Take  this  piece  of  paper  and  make  a  drawing  to  show  how  the  other 
sheet  of  paper  would  look  if  it  were  unfolded.  Draw  lines  to  show  the  creases  in  the 
paper  and  show  what  results  from  the  cutting." 

5S 


22.  The  subject  is  not  permitted  to  fold  the  second  sheet,  but  must  solve  the 
problem  by  the  imagination  unaided.  The  test  is  passed  if  the  creases  in  the  paper 
are  properly  represented,  if  the  holes  are  drawn  in  the  correct  number,  and  if  they  are 
located  correctly:  that  is,  both  on  the  same  crease  and  each  about  half  way  between 
the  center  of  the  paper  and  the  side.    The  shape  of  the  holes  is  disregarded. 

23.  Success  in  this  test  depends  upon  "constructive  visual  imagination." 

24.  In  the  problem  of  the  enclosed  boxes  the  teacher  says:  "You  see  this  box; 
it  has  two  smaller  boxes  inside  of  it,  and  each  one  of  the  smaller  boxes  contains  a  tiny 
little  box.     How  many  boxes  are  there  altogether  contained  in  the  big  one?" 

25.  The  answer,  of  course,  is  simple,  but  it  requires  a  fair  degree  of  intelligence 
to  give  the  solution  in  half  a  minute,  practically  without  hesitation. 

26.  "Success  in  this  problem,"  says  Professor  Terman,  "seems  to  depend 
chiefly  on  the  facility  with  which  the  constructive  imagination  manipulates  concrete 
visual  imagery." 

INVENT  OTHER  EXERCISES. 

27.  Many  exercises  in  visualization  may  be  invented  and  performed  by  the 
thoughtful  student.  It  is  impossible  to  overestimate  the  value  of  the  development 
of  the  visual  imagination,  for  such  power  is  to  the  creative  writer  what  the  massive 
biceps  muscles  are  to  the  blacksmith. 

28.  Perhaps  the  most  valuable  use  of  visualization  is  to  assume  the  point  of 
view  of  the  eventual  audience.  Try  to  put  yourself  in  the  place  of  the  composite 
spectators  who  will  view  and  criticize  your  picture  when  it  is  finally  shown  upon  the 
screen.  Do  not  only  visualize  your  story  on  the  screen  of  your  mind,  but,  further, 
visualize  the  audience  in  its  reaction  thereto;  test  everything  in  its  relation  to  the 
audience. 

Bear  in  mind  at  all  times  that  the  audience  is  the  final  judge  of  your  work.  In 
a  discussion  of  a  story  in  a  studio  this  fact  is  always  foremost.  If  an  important  detail 
is  being  thrashed  out,  one  is  quite  likely  to  hear  the  remark  from  a  director  or  writer, 
"This  situation  will  get  applause"  or  "The  suspense  at  this  spot  will  make  them  sit 
up  in  their  seats."    These  references  are,  of  course,  to  the  audience. 

Never  permit  yourself  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  you  are  writing  your  photo- 
play for  an  audience  composed  of  persons  seeking  entertainment.  Judge  every  point 
of  your  story  by  the  probable  effect  that  it  will  have  upon  such  an  audience,  and,  in 
doing  so,  make  constant  use  of  visualization.  Try  to  place  yourself  in  a  seat  in  the 
center  of  an  imaginary  theatre  and  keep  the  screen  before  your  mental  eye.  There  is 
no  question  that  the  ability  to  do  this  has  had  much  to  do  with  the  success  of  the  big 
directors  and  producers  of  photoplays,  just  as  it  had  to  do  with  the  success  of  such 
immortal  playwrights  as  Shakespeare,  Ibsen  and  a  hundred  others. 


59 


CHAPTER  XI 

DeMille's  Rules 

1.  William  C.  DeMille  is  one  of  the  men  who  has  done  much  to  uplift  the 
quality  of  screen  production.  Famous  as  the  author  of  "Strong  Heart,"  "The 
Woman,"  "The  Warrens  of  Virginia,"  and  other  successes  of  the  speaking  stage 
before  he  entered  upon  the  work  of  photoplay  writing,  his  many  successes  written  for 
the  Famous  Players-Lasky  organization  are  too  well  known  to  require  mention. 
Some  time  ago  Mr.  DeMille  prepared  a  list  of  fundamental  story  requirements  and 
reasons  for  rejection,  and  this  list  is  of  so  comprehensive  a  nature  that  it  is  given  here 
in  its  completeness. 

2.  According  to  Mr.  DeMille,  the  besetting  sin  of  the  amateur  author  is  his 
failure  to  appreciate  or  take  inventory  of  his  own  shortcomings.  His  favorite  slogan 
is  that  he  is  just  as  good  a  writer  as  someone  else  who  has  proven  successful,  but  that 
the  other  fellow  had  a  "pull"  or  influence.  If  the  time  that  is  spent  in  this  sort  of 
argument  against  the  successful  author  were  utilized  by  the  aspirant  in  cultivating 
an  impersonal  and  critical  attitude  towards  his  own  efforts,  with  the  sincere  purpose 
of  self-improvement,  Mr.  DeMille  believes  that  the  percentage  of  successes  would  at 
least  be  greater  than  at  present. 

AVOID   UNDUE   HASTE. 

3.  Among  other  things,  he  says  that  amateurs  fail  because  they  try  to  dash  oE 
scenarios  as  they  would  a  letter  home.  "Inexperienced  writers  think  they  can  turn 
them  off  at  the  rate  of  three  or  four  an  afternoon,"  says  Mr.  DeMille.  "We  encour- 
age the  study  of  scenario  writing  as  much  as  possible,  hoping  that  it  will  disclose  a 
latent  talent,  but  unless  there  is  some  degree  of  intelligence  in  preparing  the  story 
all  talent  will  become  entirely  submerged  in  a  sea  of  words.  All  that  'talent'  has  to 
do  is  to  stick  its  periscope  up  a  little  above  the  sea  and  we  can  spot  it  immediately 
without  the  use  of  a  spyglass." 

4.  "As  the  photodrama  is  the  most  democratic  form  of  amusement,  so  is  scenario 
writing  the  most  democratic  and  remunerative  indoor  sport  at  the  present  time.  The 
story  requirements  for  a  five-reel  production,  are  as  follows: 

STORY  REQUIREMENTS. 

5.  "First — Fundamental  idea  of  interest  to  the  average  spectator  or  patron. 

6.  "Second — Logical  premises,  logical  sequence,  logical  conclusions. 

7.  "Third — Characterization,  action. 

8.  "Fourth — Dramatic  value  in  thought,  commonly  designated  as  mental 
punch. 

9.  "Fifth — Dramatic  value  in  situations,  or  the  physical  punch. 

10.  "Sixth — Constant  growth,  progression  of  the  story. 

11.  "Seventh — Beauty,  harmony,  simplicity,  color.  By  simplicity  is  meant  for 
the  story  to  run  in  one  straight  channel  and  not  have  a  number  of  branches. 

12.  "Eighth — Picturesque  value. 

13.  "Ninth — Novelty  in  treatment. 

14.  "And  after  all  of  these  requirements  it  must  have  the  breath  of  life.  It 
must  live.  It  must  be  human,  feeling.  A  story  which  does  not  contain  practically 
sixty  per  cent  of  these  requirements  is  returned  simply  with  the  comment  'Not  avail- 
able.' 

60 


REASONS   FOR  REJECTION. 

15.  "Every  story  is  carefully  read  and  a  record  kept  of  every  story  submitted, 
with  its  criticism.  Running  through  the  files  the  most  frequent  criticisms  I  find  are 
as  follows : 

16.  "First — Too  unpleasant  a  subject — morbid,  or  dealing  with  the  under- 
world or  white  slavery. 

17.  "Second — Rambling  story — covering  a  period  of  twenty  years. 

18.  "Third — No  sympathy — lacks  a  knowledge  of  human  nature. 

19.  "Fourth — A  story  founded  on  illogical  premises — so  there  could  be  no 
logical  conclusion. 

20.  "Fifth — Fundamental  idea  of  no  interest  to  average  theatre  patron. 

21.  "Sixth — Filled  with  incidents  but  not  leading  to  a  climax. 

22.  "Seventh — No  suspense.  End  of  story  is  seen  long  before  picture  is  well 
under  way. 

23.  "Eighth — Lack  of  dramatic  sense — this  exists  in  seventy-five  per  cent  of 
plays  received. 

24.  "Ninth — Open  repetition  of  plays  already  seen  on  the  stage  or  screen. 

25.  "Tenth — No  reason  for  narrative — lack  of  characterization." 

FUNDAMENTAL  INTERESTS. 

26.  In  order  that  there  may  be  no  misconstruction  of  any  of  the  items  in  Mr. 
DeMille's  list,  it  will  not  be  inappropriate  to  go  further  into  detail  and  treat  each  of 
the  rules  and  reasons  separately,  and  somewhat  more  elaborately.  Mr.  DeMille 
starts  his  list  of  requirements  with  "Fundamental  idea  of  interest  to  the  average  spec- 
tator or  patron."  With  a  full  and  complete  realization  of  the  fact  that  the  photo- 
drama  is  the  most  democratic  form  of  amusement,  it  follows  naturally  that  a  photo- 
play must,  in  the  main,  appeal  to  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people  rather  than  to  any 
one  particular  class. 

Of  course  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  please  everyone.  Standing  in  the  lobby  of  a 
theatre,  as  the  audience  files  out  after  the  showing  of  a  picture,  one  may  hear  praise 
from  some  and  harsh  criticism  from  others.  Still,  fundam.ental  ideas  may  be  chosen 
that  will  be  of  interest  to  the  average  spectator. 

27.  It  is  quite  possible  to  become  so  wrapped  up  in  the  details  of  construction, 
or  in  a  personal  theory  or  hobby,  as  to  lose  sight  of  the  all  important  fact  that  the 
photoplay  is  written  to  amuse  and  entertain  an  audience.  Every  story  may  possess  a 
moral,  but  it  must  be  served  with  the  sauce  of  allurement  and  garnished  with  delect- 
ability.  An  audience  must  not  be  preached  at  nor  must  the  moral  be  crowded  down 
their  unwilling  throats. 

28.  The  subject  must  be  one  that  is  of  interest  to  the  great  majoritj- — the  pho- 
toplay house  is  in  no  sense  an  exclusive  temple  devoted  to  the  artistic  conception  of  a 
small  coterie  of  thinkers — it  is  a  popular  institution  where  the  masses  and  classes  min- 
gle democratically,  seeking  diversion  from  the  wearisome  routine  of  their  own  lives. 

29.  Subjects  must  be  chosen  that  possess  the  greatest  interest  to  the  greatest 
number  of  persons.  If  one's  characterizations  arc  clearlj-  and  truthfully  drawn,  if 
they  are  real  human  flesh  and  blood  people,  a  good  start  will  have  been  made  toward 
success.  "For  Husbands  Only"  was  a  success  that  had  a  phenomenal  run  to  crowded 
houses.  It  was  a  story  that  v>as  clearly  and  simply  told,  and  which  dealt  with  funda- 
mental human  relationships  that  were  easily  understood  and  that  were  possessed  of 
unanimous   interest. 

30.  The  conflict  of  wits  between  Toni,  the  good,  clean,  innocent  girl,  and  Van, 
the  remorseless  roue,  with  the  final  triumph  of  right  and  true  love  and  the  defeat  of 
wrong  and  treachery,  supplied  a  theme  that  was  of  interest  to  young  and  old,  rich 

61 


and  poor,  newsboy  and  college  professor.  An  excellent  moral  was  contained  in  the 
story,  but  it  was  not  aggressively  forced  upon  the  audience.  The  story  itself  was 
interesting  first;  the  moral  element  struck  the  audience  after  they  had  enjoyed  the 
action  of  the  tale  and  had  time  to  ponder  upon  what  they  had  witnessed.  Every  right- 
minded  person  who  witnessed  the  production,  felt  a  little  thrill  of  exultation  when 
Van  slunk  away  into  the  night,  leaving  Samuel  and  Toni,  a  good  man  and  woman, 
alone  in  their  happiness. 

31.  In  "Gates  of  Brass,"  the  surpassing  love  of  Blake  for  his  daughter,  supplied 
an  idea  that  was  of  interest  to  the  average  spectator,  because  it  dealt  with  a  funda- 
mental human  emotion. 

32.  The  reason  that  "The  Old  Homestead,"  "York  State  Folks,"  "Hearts  of 
Oak,"  "Human  Hearts,"  and  other  productions  of  the  speaking  stage  remained  in 
demand  for  years  and  years  was  that  they  were  stories  of  real  people  and  fundamental 
human  emotions. 

LOGIC. 

33.  Second  in  Mr.  DeMille's  list  are  "logical  premises,  logical  sequence,  and 
logical  conclusions."  Even  the  thoughtless  members  of  an  audience  are  quick  to 
detect  in  an  instinctive  sort  of  way,  illogical  elements  in  a  story.  They  may  not 
know  why  they  are  dissatisfied,  but  they  know  when  they  are.  Cause  and  effect  must 
be  relative — without  logical  premises  and  logical  sequence,  there  can  be  no  logical 
conclusion. 

34.  Careful  study  of  the  characters  in  a  stor>'  is  necessary  in  order  that  they 
may  be  made  to  do  what  they  inevitably  would  do  in  real  life.  It  is  frequently  easier 
to  have  a  character  perform  some  act  that  is  convenient  to  the  growth  of  the  story, 
but  that  is  absolutely  unnatural  and  illogical.  This  must  be  avoided.  The  moment 
that  the  element  of  unnaturalness  and  artificiality  creeps  into  a  story  it  is  weakened 
and  starts  to  go  wrong.  If  the  fault  be  not  immediately  corrected,  the  author  will 
find  himself  wandering  further  and  further  astray,  until  his  tale  is  in  a  hopeless 
tangle. 

35.  Referring  to  the  example  contained  in  "For  Husbands  Only,"  we  have  the 
true  and  admitted  premise  that  Van  is  an  unrcgenerate  sinner.  A  logical  sequence 
of  events  moves  to  the  conclusion — the  failure  of  our  sinful  villain  to  steal  Toni 
away  from  the  good  man  who  loves  her  and  whom  she  eventually  realizes  that  she 
loves  quite  as  truly. 

36.  From  the  opening  scene,  the  story  moves  along  in  logical  sequence  until  it 
reaches  the  happy  ending  that  follows  closely  upon  the  broken  tensity  of  the  climactic 
situation.  And,  in  passing,  let  the  fact  be  impressed  that  there  is  material  virtue  in 
the  demand  for  a  happy  ending  to  a  story.  Life  is  founded,  largely,  upon  hope.  It 
is  the  hopeful  thought  that  "everything  will  come  out  all  right,"  that  in  many  cases 
makes  life  endurable.  Therefore,  does  mankind  seek  to  find  examples  of  justification 
of  his  faith  and  hope  in  fiction,  either  in  books  or  on  the  photoplay  screen. 

37.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  tragedy  no  longer  has  a  prominent  place  in  the 
drama.  There  may  be  elements  of  tragedy  in  a  story,  but  the  final  scene  should 
almost  invariably  be  surrounded  by  happiness,  love,  peace,  and  an  optimistic  view  of 
the  suggested  future.  How  different  would  be  our  sensation  and  how  wretched  our 
outlook  upon  life,  if  we  were  to  see  Van  succeed  in  winning  Toni  away  from  her 
faithful  husband,  and  adding  her  to  his  list  of  victims,  of  whom  we  have  seen  so  pitiful 
an  example  in  Mrs.  Dalton.  This  might  have  been  possible  in  real  life,  but  when  in 
doubt,  choose  the  road  to  optimism — there  may  be  clouds  and  rain  in  your  story,  but  it 
is  better  that  the  sun  should  shine  brightly  at  the  finish. 

38.  Faith,  hope,  and  love  must  svirvive  and  endure.  This  does  not  mean  that 
it  is  necessary  to  invariably  have  your  hero  and  your  heroine  stand  in  a  tight  embrace 
in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun  at  the  finish  of  the  story ;  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  such 

62 


a  scene  suggests  happiness  and  peace,  but  it  has  been  used  on  several  occasions so 

many,  in  fact,  that  a  variation  in  the  treatment  of  the  idea  involved  is  quite  welcome 
to  the  tired  eyes  and  brain  of  the  scenario  editor  who  reads  your  script  among  hun- 
dreds of  others,  but  the  thought  conveyed  in  such  a  theme  is  the  sort  of  ending  that  is 
quite  desirable. 

39.  Let  this  qualification  be  understood,  however.  If  you  have  what  you  regard 
as  a  big,  forceful  story,  founded  upon  a  plot  which  is  logically  productive  of  an  un- 
happy ending  and  you  feel  that  the  whole  story  would  be  warped  and  made  illogical 
and  improbable  by  forcing  a  happy  ending  when  the  opposite  is  the  natural  termina- 
tion of  your  story,  then  make  an  exception  and  submit  your  manuscript  with  the  end- 
ing that  you  consider  most  consistent.  Do  not  ruin  a  good  story  by  distorting  it  so  as 
to  bring  about  a  happy  ending  by  unnatural  and  illogical  means,  but  when  the  choice 
balances  evenly,  take  the  path  to  optimism  rather  than  the  road  into  the  clouds  and 
mist  of  pessimism. 

40.  The  death  of  the  principal  character  at  the  climax  of  "Gates  of  Brass" 
was  a  quite  unusual  termination  and  caused  much  comment  among  producers  as  well 
as  motion-picture  theatre-goers.  It  was  a  perfectly  logical  result  of  what  had  gone 
before,  however,  and  seemed  inevitable.  The  tragedy  of  this  scene  was  lightened  some- 
what by  the  thought  of  the  happiness  that  lay  ahead  for  Margaret  and  Dick. 

41.  Third,  Mr.  DeMille  mentions  "Characterization"  and  "Action,"  both  of 
which  have  been  exhaustively  treated  in  preceding  chapters. 

MENTAL  AND  PHYSICAL  PUNCH. 

42.  We  may  pass  on  then  to  his  fourth  item,  "Dramatic  value  in  thought,  com- 
monly designated  as  mental  punch,"  and  to  the  fifth,  "Dramatic  value  in  situa- 
tions, or  the  physical  punch."  If  a  story  is  founded  upon  a  big  human  theme  and 
contains  strong  situations  and  the  suspense  that  accompanies  them,  therein  will  exist 
mental  and  physical  punch.  The  word  "punch"  used  in  this  connection  is  a  bit  of 
modern  vernacular.  Physical  punch  may  be  found  in  situations  involving  danger  and 
daring.  Hand-to-hand  conflict,  thrilling  rescues  and  escapes  all  involve  physical 
punch. 

43.  There  is  mental  punch  in  the  spot  in  "Gates  of  Brass"  where  Blake  decides 
to  tell  the  truth  to  the  villagers  concerning  the  presence  of  oil  in  the  land  they  believe 
to  be  worthless.  The  only  honest  thing  that  he  had  ever  done  brought  him  the  for- 
tune that  a  life  of  crooked  dealings  had  denied  him,  and  now  the  fortune  meant  noth- 
ing to  him,  for  his  daughter,  the  one  thing  for  which  he  had  labored,  was  gone  from 
his  life.  The  irony  of  this  twist  of  fate  is  the  essence  of  mental  punch.  In  other 
words,  it  provides  food  for  thought,  and  perhaps  no  better  definition  than  that  may 
be   found    for   mental   punch. 

44.  Too  much  physical  punch  results  in  an  overdose  of  melodrama;  too  little 
in  a  quality  of  milk-and-water  weakness  that  is  not  to  be  desired.  Striking  the  happy 
medium  must  depend  upon  the  mental  equilibrium  of  the  author — a  result  of  study 
and  experience.  The  analysis  of  successful  photoplays  from  week  to  week  will  do 
much  toward  maintaining  a  desirable  balance  of  these  elements. 

GROWTH  OF  STORY. 

45.  The  sixth  DeMille  requirement  is  "Constant  growth,  progression  of  the 
story."  This  is  obviously  of  importance.  The  moment  the  growth  of  a  story  stops 
or  wanders,  the  attention  and  interest  of  the  audience  is  lost  and  the  value  of  the  story 
is  lessened. 

46.  Turn  again  to  "For  Husbands  Only."  The  characters  are  established  in 
as  rapid  succession  as  possible  after  the  actual  opening  of  the  story.  Then  we  begin 
to  get  the  drift  of  the  tale.  Gradually  it  moves,  scene  by  scene,  closer  and  closer  to 
the  climax,  which  is  the  eventual  goal,  the  story  unfolding  and  building  as  it  ap- 

63 


preaches  the  apex  which  is  reached  when  we  arrive  at  the  climactic  scene  in  Samuel's 
residence.    This  gradual  growth  carries  the  interest  of  the  audience  constantly  with  it. 

In  a  perfectly  constructed  story  each  succeeding  incident  in  the  flow  of  action 
should  be  more  interesting  and  vital  than  anything  that  has  gone  before.  It  may  read- 
ily be  seen  that  if  the  highest  point  were  reached  in  the  middle  of  a  story  and  the 
events  that  followed  were  of  diminishing  importance,  the  audience  would  be  left  at  the 
end  with  the  feeling  of  having  been  cheated.  And  at  no  point  during  the  progress  of 
a  story  must  it  stop  in  its  growth — it  must  keep  moving  and  always  in  the  general 
direction  of  the  big  events  that  form  the  climax. 

47.  When  the  growth  is  complete  and  the  story  has  reached  its  big  climax,  it 
may  move  quietly  along  for  a  few  scenes  in  order  to  suggest  a  satisfactory  future. 
This  gives  the  audience  an  opportunity  to  catch  its  breath.  It  is  the  calm  after  the 
storm,  the  rainbow  after  the  tempestuous  deluge. 

48.  In  "For  Husbands  Only,"  after  Van  has  departed  from  Samuel's  house,  we 
have  a  few  scenes  depicting  the  arrival  of  perfect  love  and  complete  understanding 
which  we  have  hoped  for  and  which  we  trust  will  characterize  the  remainder  of  the 
lives  of  Samuel  and  Toni. 

49.  In  "Gates  of  Brass"  the  climax  is  tragic,  but  after  we  have  seen  Blake  fall 
forward  on  the  table,  dead,  our  attention  is  diverted  to  Margaret  and  Dick,  and  we 
know  that  she  is  going  to  be  happy  in  his  protecting  arms  after  the  shock  of  her  fath- 
er's death  has  passed. 

50.  Once  in  a  long  while  there  is  an  excuse  for  an  "unhappy"  ending.  In  the 
case  of  "The  Whispering  Chorus"  one  left  the  theatre  with  a  disagreeable  feeling  that 
all  was  wrong  with  the  world  after  witnessing  the  suggested  execution  of  a  man  who 
through  a  remarkable  series  of  events  had  been  convicted  of  his  own  murder,  yet  the 
story  was  so  perfect  an  example  of  artistic  sequence — the  mental  punch  was  handled  so 
deftly — that  the  pessimistic  atmosphere  was  forgiven.  One  would  not  wish  to  see  such 
a  photoplay  every  vt^eek,  however. 

BEAUTY,   HARMONY,  SIMPLICITY  AND  COLOR. 

51.  Seventh  comes  "Beauty,  harmony,  simplicity,  color."  Mr.  DeMille  has 
explained  his  meaning  of  simplicity.  By  "beauty,"  I  take  it  that  he  means  those  quali- 
ties which  are  satisfying  to  the  e3e,  the  intellect,  the  aesthetic  faculty  and  the  moral 
sense  rather  than  merely  the  photographic  properties  of  motion-pictures  which  appeal 
directly  to  the  eye,  and  to  the  eye  alone;  by  "harmony,"  the  just  adaptation  of  the 
various  parts  of  the  story  to  each  other;  and  by  "color,"  the  characteristics  which 
give  life,  vivacity,  reality,  or  imaginative  intensity  to  the  completed  photoplay.  So 
far  as  simplicity  is  concerned,  this  necessity  has  been  dealt  with  in  the  chapter  on 
Unity. 

52.  One  of  the  bad  habits  resulting  from  lack  of  training  is  the  careless  wan- 
dering from  the  central  channel  of  a  story  into  rambling  by-ways  of  thought  and  action. 
This  brings  about  confusion  and  the  central  idea  of  the  story  is  submerged  or  lost 
completely.  If  the  one  big  thought  toward  which  the  action  of  a  photoplay  moves 
is  strong  enough,  there  will  be  no  necessity  for  dragging  in  extraneous  matter — if  it  is 
not,  it  is  an  insufficient  foundation  for  the  story.  Devote  time  and  thought  to  settling 
upon  a  strong  central  plot  rather  than  to  patching  up  a  weak  one  with  side  issues. 

Beauty,  harmony,  and  color  are  requisites  that  aid  in  making  a  photoplay  pleasing 
and  attractive.  These  are  inclusive  of  the  mental  and  physical  qualities  of  the  story. 
If  the  thought  that  is  the  soul  of  a  photoplay  is  harmoniously  beautiful  and  colorful, 
and  the  locale  of  its  action  is  equally  so,  a  long  step  has  been  made  toward  success. 
There  must  be  an  underlying  strength  and  virility,  however ;  character  as  well  as 
beauty  and  color.  Keeping  a  well-adjusted  balance  of  the  many  attributes  that  make 
a  perfect  storj-,  is  the  key  to  fame  and  fortune. 

64 


PICTURESQUE  VALUE. 

53.  Eighth  on  the  h'st  is  "Picturesque  value."  It  must  be  borne  in  mind 
that  in  the  photoplay  we  are  appealing  directly  to  the  eye.  Therefore,  there  is  value 
in  the  picturesque.  It  is  well  for  the  photoplaywright  to  look  upon  his  work  through 
the  eyes  of  an  artist  as  well  as  from  the  viewpoint  of  a  creator  of  fiction.  Picturesque 
backgrounds  and  picturesque  characters  add  strength  to  the  finished  photoplay.  The 
picturesque  cannot  predominate  in  every  screen  story,  but  it  may  be  woven  into  the 
fabric  of  the  action,  in  spots  at  least.  The  eye  must  be  satisfied  as  well  as  the  intel- 
lect. Perhaps  it  is  better  that  the  beginner  does  not  give  too  much  attention  to  this 
element  for,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  development  of  the  picturesque  lies  more  in  the 
hands  of  the  director  than  the  author. 

NOVELTY  IN  TREATMENT. 

54.  "Novelty  in  treatment,"  mentioned  last,  is  perhaps  the  most  vital  and  im- 
portant of  any  of  the  items  in  Mr.  DeMille's  list.  It  is  novelty  of  treatment  that 
makes  an  old  subject  new,  and  this  element  of  novelty  may  be  broadly  comprehensive, 
covering  the  whole  range  of  other  values.  There  have  been  thousands  of  detective 
stories  written,  yet  the  author  who  finds  a  new  way  for  a  detective  to  match  his  wits 
successfully  against  those  of  a  clever  criminal  will  find  a  ready  market  for  his 
manuscript. 

55.  Love,  as  a  subject  for  fiction,  is  the  oldest  and  most  frequently  used  in  the 
world  and  yet  love  stories  are  always  welcome,  provided  their  treatment  is  just  a 
little  different  than  anything  that  has  gone  before. 

56.  "Novelty  is  the  great  parent  of  pleasure."    Cowper  says: 

"The  earth  was  made  so  various,  that  the  mind 
Of  desultory  man,  studious  of  change 
And  pleased  with  novelty,  might  be  indulged." 

57.  So  must  the  treatment  of  the  handful  of  original  themes  be  touched  with 
novelty — newness  of  thought — if  the  author  seeks  to  win  the  plaudits  of  "desultory 
man,  studious  of  change." 


65 


CHAPTER  XII 
Other  Values 

1.  We  have  seen  that  a  story  must  be  composed  of  progressive  action  in  order  to  be 
acceptable  photoplay  material;  that  the  characters  must  be  genuinely  human;  that 
the  dramatic  situations  involved  must  be  the  result  of  struggle  or  conflict  between 
well  estoblished  factions,  and  that  the  element  of  suspense  must  be  maintained.  We 
know  that  every  photoplay  must  possess  fundamental  interest  to  the  average  spectator; 
logical  premises,  sequence,  and  conclusion ;  mental  and  physical  punch ;  constant  growth 
and  progression;  beauty,  harmony,  simplicity,  color;  picturesque  value  and  novelty  of 
treatment. 

2.  There  are  other  qualifications  that  must  be  included  in  a  complete  list  of  the 
attributes  necessary  to  a  near  approach  to  perfection.  We  must  have  motive,  prob- 
ability or  at  least  plausibility;  a  proper  adjustment  of  cause  and  effect;  heart  interest 
and  love  interest;  the  triumph  of  right  and  reward  of  virtue  with  corresponding  pun- 
ishment of  evil  and  iniquity. 

MOTIVE. 

3.  Nothing  is  of  greater  importance  than  motive.  Lack  of  this  essential  warps 
our  characterizations,  weakens  our  situations,  and  brings  about  unnatural  climaxes, 
thus  nullifying  the  value  of  the  whole. 

4.  An  act  without  an  underlying  motive  loses  all  value  in  a  photoplay.  The  care- 
less writer  occasionally  drags  in  a  character  or  incident  for  the  sake  of  convenience. 
For  instance,  let  us  suppose  that  it  is  desirable  that  two  characters  meet  in  a  certain 
locality  in  order  to  further  the  progress  of  a  story.  The  easiest  way  would  be  to  just 
let  them  both  "happen  along"  and  meet.  But  it  would  be  wholly  unconvincing  and 
an  audience  would  realize,  in  a  sub-conscious  way  at  least,  that  the  meeting  was  brought 
about  merely  for  the  convenience  of  the  story's  advancement.  But  if  each  of  the  char- 
acters has  a  direct  reason  for  going  to  the  place  at  the  same  hour  and,  in  response  to 
that  reason  or  motive,  they  meet,  then  the  meeting  is  logical  and  natural. 

Never  cause  a  character  to  perform  any  act,  no  matter  how  trivial  it  may  be, 
unless  a  motive  is  shown  for  such  performance.  If  you  do,  the  artificial  element  will 
enter  into  your  construction,  logic  will  be  overthrown  and  the  whole  fabric  of  your 
story  will  be  weakened.  Great  effort  along  the  line  of  creative  thought  is  necessary  to 
supply  motive  for  the  movements  of  your  characters.  It  would  be  easier  to  allow  events 
to  happen  conveniently  and  in  accord  with  the  necessities  of  your  plot,  regardless  of 
motive.  But  the  moment  you  adopt  "convenient"  means  of  arriving  at  a  desired  end 
you  lose  your  hold  on  your  audience  and,  by  offending  their  intelligence,  antagonize 
them  and  change  their  sympathetic  interest  to  chilly  indifference.  Your  spectators  will 
come  away  from  viewing  the  picture,  not  with  the  comment:  "Great!  A  good,  strong 
picture,"  but  rather  with  the  inclination  to  utter  that  vulgar  but  expressive  term  of 
street  vernacular:  "Rotten!"  Therefore,  never  forget  that  to  be  logical  and  con- 
vincing your  story  must  be  large  with  the  element  of  motive.  • 

If  there  be  a  motive  for  all  that  is  done  by  each  of  your  characters,  your  cause  and 
clTect  will  balance  and  take  care  of  itself.  Without  motive  you  will  find  yourself  setting 
down  on  paper  effects  which  have  no  probable  cause,  and  you  will  shortly  find  your  story 
high  on  the  rocks  of  doubt  and  absurdity. 

66 


5.  The  characters  in  a  photoplay  should  act  as  much  as  possible  like  persons  in 
real  life.  Every  one  of  us,  except  perhaps  some  colorless  and  uninteresting  idler,  rises 
in  the  morning  and  goes  through  the  day  performing  acts,  each  of  which  is  founded 
upon  a  definite  motive  or  cause. 

6.  Clinton  Syx  in  "Speed  and  Suspicion"  acted  upon  a  sudden  impulse  when  he 
lied  to  the  motorcycle  officer  and  told  him  that  he  had  been  breaking  the  speed  laws  in 
order  to  bring  a  physician  to  the  bedside  of  his  sick  v/ife.  Behind  this  impulse  and 
prevarication  lay  a  strong  motive,  however — that  of  avoiding  a  thirty-day  jail  sentence. 

7.  Toni  Wylde  in  "For  Husbands  Only"  risked  her  reputation  and  future  wel- 
fare in  a  series  of  meetings  with  Van  D'Arcy.  These  acts  were  motivated  by  a  desire 
to  obtain  revenge  from  the  man  who  had  offered  what  she  regarded  as  an  unforgivable 
insult,  and  to  whom  she  sought  to  teach  an  unforgetable  lesson. 

8.  J.  Hatfield  Blake  in  "Gates  of  Brass"  departed  from  the  dishonest  instinct 
of  a  lifetime  and  attempted  to  make  every  possible  reparation  to  those  whom  he  had 
wronged.  The  motive  for  this  sudden  change  in  the  man  existed  in  his  attempt  to  bring 
back  his  daughter  whom  he  loved  better  than  anything  else  in  life  and  who  had  left  him, 
saddened  and  alone,  when  she  became  aware  of  the  source  of  his  riches.  Even  in  the 
smallest  details,  motives  must  be  present  in  order  to  justify  the  acts  of  our  characters. 

PROBABILITY. 

9.  Closely  related  to  the  element  of  motive  is  that  of  probability.  The  acts  and 
deeds  of  your  characters  must  be  probable  ones;  so  must  their  motives  be  probable.  At 
least  they  must  be  plausible,  or  superficially  reasonable.  They  may  be  unusual,  informal 
or  unconventional ;  you  may  allow  your  characters  to  indulge  in  idiosyncrasies  of  thought 
and  action,  but  to  be  convincing  they  must  remain  within  the  domains  of  the  probable 
at  all  times. 

10.  The  reason  that  we  occasionally  ridicule  the  absurdity  of  a  screen  melodrama 
or  serial  is  that  in  a  frantic  attempt  to  inject  novelty  into  a  story  the  author  passes 
beyond  all  limits  of  probability.  We  must  never  allow  any  one  of  our  characters  to 
perform  any  act  that  would  not  be  possible  in  real  life — not  only  possible  but  plausible 
and  probable;  otherwise  our  story  will  become  ridiculous  with  the  element  of  burlesque. 

■  LOVE  INTEREST  ;  HEART  INTEREST. 

11.  Every  successful  photoplay  must  possess  heart  interest;  nearly  every  one 
must  have  at  least  a  touch  of  love  interest.  The  two  must  not  be  confused.  Love 
interest  cannot  exist  without  heart  interest,  hut  there  may  be  a  strong  element  of  heart 
interest  in  a  story  that  does  not  deal  with  love.  Heart  interest  is  an  appeal  to  the 
hearts  and  sympathies  of  the  audience — love  interest  deals  with  the  love  of  one  char- 
acter for  another. 

12.  In  "Gates  of  Brass"  the  love  story  is  centered  in  the  courtship,  marriage  and 
subsequent  events  in  the  lives  of  Dick  Wilbur  and  Margaret  Blake,  but  there  is  heart 
interest  in  the  scenes  of  Blake  deserted  and  alone,  longing  for  the  return  of  his  daughter. 
We  know  that  Blake  is  a  swindler,  but  we  also  know  that  his  love  for  his  daughter  is 
genuine  and  overwhelming,  and  when  we  see  him  wistful  and  stunned  at  the  thought 
of  living  out  his  life  without  the  presence  of  Margaret  our  hearts  go  out  to  him  instinc- 
tively.   That  is  heart  interest. 

13.  Regardless  of  the  theme  or  plot  of  a  story,  it  will  be  cold  and  lifeless  if  it  is 
not  quickened  with  heart  interest  in  some  form,  and  rare  is  the  photoplay  that  meets 
with  distinct  success  that  does  not  contain  a  love  story,  not  always  as  the  main  artery 
of  the  tale,  but  at  least  in  auxiliary  form. 

14.  Heart  interest  will  develop  almost  automatically  if  the  characterizations  are 
truly  human,   their  actions  well  motivated  and   their  relationships  logical  and   real. 

Referring  again  to  "Gates  of  Brass,"  it  was  inevitable  that  Margaret  would  sooner 
or  later  have  the  veil  torn  from  her  eyes  and  become  possessed  of  a  realization  of  her 
father's  dishonest  proclivities,  and  the  source  of  his  wealth. 

67 


15.  The  contact  of  the  two  characters — Margaret  and  her  father — could  not  help 
but  bring  about  this  situation,  and  the  situation  could  not  exist  without  the  presence  of 
the  heart  interest  that  is  obviously  contained.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  while  the  list 
of  requirements  may  seem  stupendous  to  the  beginner,  if  close  attention  is  paid  to  char- 
acterization, motivation,  and  a  human  theme  for  a  foundation,  with  a  cloak  of  unity 
about  the  whole,  many  of  the  auxiliary  elements  almost  take  care  of  themselves.  In 
real  life  the  contact  of  a  number  of  normal  men  and  women  of  varied  interests  and 
ambitions  will  inevitably  bring  about  heart  interest  and  love  interest.  Therefore,  we 
have  but  to  keep  our  characters  in  screen  fiction  real  and  human  and  we  are  on  the 
right  track  towards  success. 

16.  Exceptional,  indeed,  is  the  life  that  does  not  sooner  or  later  know  the  pangs 
and  pulsings  of  love.  Members  of  an  audience,  unconsciously  or  otherwise,  delight  in 
likening  the  events  in  the  lives  of  photoplay  characters  to  those  of  their  own.  It 
matters  not  whether  they  are  young  or  old.  The  actual  experience  of  those  teeming 
days,  when  love  first  entered  the  heart,  may  be  many  long  years  past,  but  the  sweet 
memories  still  linger  unto  the  last  feeble  and  faltering  days  of  life,  and  the  awakening 
of  these  memories  sends  the  story  home  to  those  old  hearts  just  as  effectively  as  it  does 
to  the  boy  and  girl  in  their  late  teens  who  are  holding  hands  in  the  next  row  of  seats. 
You  may  appeal  to  intellect,  to  reason,  to  patriotism,  or  to  any  emotion  or  mental  atti- 
tude, but  you  must  appeal  to  the  heart  at  the  same  time,  else  your  efforts  will  have 
been  in  vain. 

THE    CHEERFUL   ELEMENT. 

17.  In  an  announcement  of  future  releases,  made  by  a  large  producing  and  dis- 
tributing organization,  the  following  appeared:  "Conflict  and  circumstances  are  going 
to  make  this  a  sad  world  for  a  time.  We  must  let  none  of  this  sadness  creep  into  our 
pictures.  We  must  make  them  happy,  cheerful,  clean.  We  must  take  them  earnest, 
sincere — and  never  morbid.  We  must  make  our  pictures  appeal  first  to  the  millions  of 
women  and  children  who  remain  at  home.  Pictures  must  enable  the  home-staying 
millions  to  relax;  to  offset  the  tear  with  a  smile." 

18.  This  had  direct  application  to  the  conditions  that  existed  after  several  years  of 
world-war.  But  it  holds  good  at  most  any  time.  The  cheerful  photoplay  story,  like 
the  cheerful  man  or  woman,  has  a  better  chance  of  winning  than  a  morbid  or  gloomy 
subject.  "Laugh  and  the  world  laughs  with  you"  is  an  axiom  that  needs  the  qualifi- 
cation of  neither  time  nor  place. 

UNDIVIDED   INTEREST. 

19.  Divided  interest  is  an  undesirable  element  that  should  be  studiously  avoided. 
We  have  seen  the  necessity  for  every  story  having  a  definite  goal,  toward  which  it  must 
progress  in  an  orderly  and  logical  manner,  the  contributory  factions  being  woven  into 
this  progress,  each  having  a  reason  for  being  there.  There  must  be  a  reason  for  the 
entrance  of  each  character  into  the  general  movement  of  the  story,  and  a  motive  for 
every  act  that  each  character  performs.  In  order  to  make  these  reasons  and  motives 
clear  to  the  audience  at  all  times,  you  must  not  allow  divided  interest  or  opposing  senti- 
ment to  confuse  them  in  their  efforts  to  follow  the  thread  of  the  story. 

Your  villain  must  be  a  villain,  your  hero  a  hero.  In  real  life  an  arch-crook  is 
frequently  a  pretty  good  sort  of  a  fellow,  with  many  likable  traits  on  the  surface.  But 
in  the  photoplay  we  have  no  time  to  explain  all  the  circumstances  surrounding  a  char- 
acter, so  to  establish  your  villain  you  have  no  other  way  than  to  show  only  the  mean, 
dishonest  and  disagreeable  things  that  he  does. 

If,  after  assuring  your  audience  that  a  man  is  a  despicable  scoundrel,  you  allow 
him  to  do  an  act  of  kindness,  such  as  the  lowest  individual  might  some  time  perform 

63 


in  real  life,  you  cause  your  audience  to  doubt  and  waver,  and  your  story  becomes  uncon- 
vincing and  uncertain  in  its  progress.  This  does  not  apply  to  the  fine  lights  and  shades 
of  character  portrayal  that  may  be  accomplished  by  the  finished  handiwork  of  a  per- 
fectly trained  writer,  but  it  is  an  excellent  rule  to  follow  until  you  feel  sure  of  your 
complete  mastery  of  technique.  Of  course,  it  is  quite  possible  to  exaggerate  villainy  or 
heroism  to  the  extent  of  absurdity.  Your  characterizations  must  at  all  times  be  tempered 
by  the  test  of  plausibility  and  you  must  not  allow  them  to  become  caricatures.  In 
written  fiction  the  author  may  explain  the  mental  processes  of  a  character  and  thus 
show  that  a  good  deed  performed  by  a  black-hearted  wretch  may  be  the  result  of  a 
sudden  impulse  and  in  no  way  bearing  on  his  general  inclination.  But  this  may  not  be 
done  as  readily  in  a  photoplay,  where  the  deed  is  seen  but  the  working  of  the  doer's 
mind  is  not. 

20.  PFIien  the  student  of  photoplay  writing  has  made  such  progress  as  to  emerge 
from  the  beginning  period,  however,  some  departure  may  be  made  from  this  narrow 
rigidity  of  characterization. 

ADVANCED  CHARACTERIZATION. 

21.  In  "Gates  of  Brass"  Mrs.  Corbaley  has  skillfully  shown  the  two  predomi- 
nating inclinations  in  the  character  of  J.  Hatfield  Blake.  The  man  is  a  remorseless 
swindler,  and  yet  another  side  of  his  character  reveals  a  father's  love  that  leads  one 
almost  to  forgive  his  sins  at  times.  It  is  the  struggle  between  the  good  and  the  bad  in 
Blake  that  is  the  backbone  of  the  story.  It  is  quite  apparent  that  such  a  characterization 
is  much  more  difficult  to  handle  than  that  of  Van  D'Arcy,  whose  ever)'  action  in  "For 
Husbands  Only"  is  consistently  evil.  Divided  interest  in  theme  is  quite  as  undesirable 
as  in  characterization. 

This  naturally  leads  us  back  to  the  necessity  of  unity  of  action.  In  "For  Husbands 
Only"  the  story  deals  with  Toni's  quest  for  revenge.  The  events  that  occur  in  this 
quest  are  of  sufficient  interest  as  they  stand  and  their  value  would  have  been  weakened 
had  the  author  attempted  to  divide  the  interest  of  the  audience  betvveen  this  theme 
and  a  sub-plot  of  any  sort  whatever.  The  author  might  have  shown  Dalton  drawing 
Van  into  a  deal  in  stocks  in  order  to  accomplish  his  financial  ruin.  The  events  sur- 
rounding this  complication  might  have  been  exceedingly  interesting  and  might  have 
been  strong  in  situation  and  suspense,  and  yet  the  audience  would  have  been  compelled 
to  divide  its  attention  between  the  story  of  Toni  seeking  revenge,  and  that  of  Dalton 
pursuing  a  similar  line  of  action.  Each  contemporaneous  plot  would  have  detracted 
from  the  interest  of  the  other  and  the  whole  story  would  have  been  weakened  thereby. 

STORIES  MUST  BE  HUMAN. 

22.  Mr.  DeMille,  in  his  list  of  story  requisites,  mentions  that  a  story  must  be 
human;  it  must  live.  Henry  Christeen  Warnack  has  dwelt  upon  this  necessity  so 
happily  that  I  quote  the  following  rather  than  attempt  to  improve  upon  his  well- 
chosen  words: 

23.  "Why  is  it  that  the  studios  all  over  the  country  cry  out  that  they  are  starved 
for  stories? 

24.  "Mostly,  the  answer  is  that  our  stories  are  not  human.  They  are  things  we 
think  up.  They  are  mechanically  clever.  They  have  plot  and  action,  but  they  are  not 
human.  They  have  artifice,  but  they  are  also  artificial.  They  have  none  of  that 
spontaneity  of  the  thing  that  springs  from  the  heart.  They  are  not  written  with  a 
glow,  and  they  bring  no  new  joy  to  the  beholder  when  once  they  have  been  filmed. 
They  have  none  of  the  stuff  that  makes  the  bud  and  bloom  of  springtime.  They 
amuse  the  mind,  but  the  laughter  they  provoke  is  not  from  the  heart,  and  they  have 
not  tears. 

25.  "Speaking  of  the  human  note  in  stories,  at  least  two  of  David  Wark  Griffith's 
great  successes  have  been  based  on  the  simplest  of  stories  wherein  he  has  for  leading 

69 


characters  merely  a  girl  and  a  boy.  He  gives  them  no  other  names  than  these,  nor  has 
he  need  of  other  names.  Life  holds  nothing  more  wonderful  than  a  girl  and  a  boy 
and  the  love  between  them  that  springs  like  a  pure  flower  from  holy  ground.  Two 
shall  look  and  tremble;  afterwards,  nations  follow. 

26.  "We  have  been  striving  too  much  for  effects  and  have  not  thought  enough 
about  naturalness.  We  have  been  fascinated  by  the  magic  of  the  camera  and  have  let 
fine  mechanics  put  the  text  out  of  mind.    We  can  have  only  one  theme,  and  that  is  life. 

27.  "One  thing  we  dare  not  forget  is  that  the  world  is  starving  for  love.  Any 
story  that  has  not  love  for  its  corner-stone  is  short  of  the  greatness  belonging  to  drama. 
All  other  passions  have  their  place  in  the  wondrous  fabric  of  life,  but  love  excels 
them  all. 

28.  "Today  the  good  story  must  also  have  purpose  and  it  must  have  light. 
Love  is  the  degree  of  understanding.  Sacrifice  has  such  a  wide  appeal  because  it  man- 
ifests the  unselfishness  of  a  great  love  and  because  it  understands.  Nobility  is  never 
blind. 

AROUSING  FEELING. 

29.  "Generally  speaking,  I  should  say  that  the  safest  rule  for  story  building  is 
to  choose  a  theme  and  a  set  of  circumstances  that  contain  and  express  deep  feeling  in 
a  way  that  will  arouse  the  feelings  of  an  audience.  Let  a  story  be  flawless  in  all  other 
respects,  yet  if  it  cannot  make  the  people  feel  poignantly,  I  maintain  that  it  is  not  a 
success.  I  place  the  quality  to  arouse  the  feelings  of  the  public  as  of  first  value  in  any 
story,  and  the  more  natural  and  unstrained  the  effort  in  this  line  appears  to  be,  the 
surer  will  be  the  effect." 

30.  The  triumph  of  right,  reward  of  virtue,  punishment  of  wrong,  the  even 
balance  of  justice — these  are  not  to  be  overlooked.  I  would  recommend  a  careful 
reading  of  Emerson's  essay  on  "Compensation"  in  this  connection.  The  following 
quotation  from  that  philosopher  will  serve  for  the  present: 

« 

THE  DOCTRINE  OF  NEMESIS. 

31.  "Justice  is  not  postponed.  A  perfect  equity  adjusts  its  balance  in  all  parts 
of  life.  Every  sweet  hath  its  sour ;  every  evil  its  good.  For  everything  you  gain,  you 
lose  something.  If  the  gatherer  gathers  too  much,  nature  takes  out  of  the  man  what 
she  puts  into  his  chest;  swells  the  estate,  but  kills  the  owner.  Nature  hates  monopolies 
and  exceptions.  The  waves  of  the  sea  do  not  more  speedily  seek  a  level  from  their 
loftiest  tossing,  than  the  varieties  of  conditions  tend  to  equalize  themselves. 

32.  "Crime  and  punishment  grow  out  of  one  stem.  Punishment  is  a  fruit 
that  unsuspected  ripens  within  the  flower  of  the  pleasure  which  concealed  it.  Cause 
and  effect,  means  and  ends,  seed  and  fruit,  cannot  be  severed ;  for  the  effect  already 
blooms  in  the  cause,  the  end  pre-exists  in  the  means,  the  fruit  in  the  seed.  This  is  that 
ancient  doctrine  of  Nemesis,  who  keeps  watch  in  the  universe  and  lets  no  offense  go 
unchastened." 

33.  To  obtain  a  nice  balance  of  justice,  with  a  definite  moral,  not  flaunted  in 
the  face  of  the  audience,  but  at  least  hinted  at  or  suggested,  there  must  be  retribution 
in  the  wake  of  every  offense,  atonement  for  every  sin,  and  reward  for  nobleness  and 
a  close  adherence  to  the  cardinal  virtues.  As  it  is  in  life,  so  must  it  be  in  fiction,  which 
is  an  entertaining  histon,'  of  life  that  is  or  might  have  been.  Retribution  does  not 
need  to  invariably  take  the  conventional  form  of  prison  or  death.  Despair,  misery, 
the  loss  of  a  loved  one  or  of  reputation  and  social  standing,  the  failure  of  cherished 
ambitions — a  hundred  punishments  may  be  more  effective  than  jail  or  the  oblivion  of 
death. 

70 


THE  HAPPY  ENDING. 

34.  The  happy  ending  is  notiiing  more  or  less  than  the  balancing  ol  justice, 
wherein  retribution  overtakes  the  guilty,  and  virtue  and  innocence  are  rewarded.- 
Surely  to  have  ended  "For  Husbands  Only,"  by  allowing  the  guilty  Van  D'Arcy  to 
w^in  the  innocent  Toni  away  from  wholesome,  true-hearted  Samuel  would  have  been 
most  unsatisfactory.  As  the  story  stands,  the  guilty  man  slinks  away,  crestfallen  and 
defeated,  while  Toni  realizes  her  overv\helming  love  for  Samuel,  and  is  rewarded  with 
his  protection  and  perfect  understanding. 

In  dealing  with  retribution,  the  punishment  should,  in  as  large  a  measure  as 
possible,  fit  the  crime.  Van  did  not  actually  succeed  in  disrupting  the  happiness  of 
Samuel  and  Toni;  therefore,  we  are  not  interested  in  any  definite  penalty  other  than 
his  utter  rout  from  the  scene  of  happiness  with  which  the  story  closes. 

35.  In  "Gates  of  Brass,"  Blake  attempted  to  right  some  of  his  wrongs  after  a 
long  life  of  fraud  and  deceit.  But  this  was  more  for  the  selfish  purpose  of  inducing 
his  daughter  to  return  to  him,  than  through  any  motive  of  repentance. 

36.  The  sympathy  of  the  audience  was  his  to  a  certain  extent,  but  when  the 
cold  hand  of  death  touched  his  bowed  head  those  who  viewed  the  scene  in  the  light  of 
calm  analj'sis  could  but  murmur,  "It  is  justice!"  Margaret,  the  bereaved  daughter, 
lost  a  father  that  had  once  been  everything  to  her,  but  out  of  the  circumstances  sur- 
rounding this  loss  she  gained  a  faithful  husband,  and  the  audience  was  left  with  the 
comforting  suggestion  that  "they  lived  happy  ever  after." 

JUSTICE  IN   COMEDY. 

37.  Even  in  comedy  there  should  be  a  balance  of  justice.  In  "Speed  and  Sus- 
picion," Clinton  broke  the  speed  laws  and  then  added  palpable  prevarication  to  the 
first  offense.  Therefore,  after  the  series  of  laughable  incidents,  it  was  just  and  right 
that  the  motorcycle  officer  should  return  and  place  him  under  arrest.  The  subject  being 
comedy,  no  emphasis  was  given  to  the  act  of  arrest,  nothing  more  than  the  mere  sug- 
gestion being  necessary.  The  audience  did  not  desire  to  see  Clinton  suffer,  but  there 
was  an  element  of  humor  in  the  thought  that  all  of  his  machinations  had  recoiled  to 
his  disadvantage.    This  brings  us  to  a  consideration  of  the  element  of  recoil. 

38.  Closely  interwoven  with  the  retribution  and  reward  is  the  use  of  recoil. 
It  is  this  that  is  so  potent  a  factor  in  comedy,  as  well  as  being  of  constant  use  in  drama. 

39.  A  man  plans  to  do  a  certain  wrong  to  another.  Not  only  do  his  arrange- 
ments fail,  but  tiiat  which  he  has  planned  for  another  brings  disaster  upon  himself. 
A  crude  example  may  be  found  in  the  following: 

40.  A  man  steals  into  a  dark  room  where  lie  supposes  his  enemy  is  sleeping. 
He  has  a  time-bomb,  which  is  set  to  explode  in  fifteen  minutes.  As  he  enters,  the 
door  slams  behind  him  and  the  lock  becomes  jammed,  thus  cutting  off  his  means  of 
escape.  Previous  circumstances  have  caused  his  enemy  to  leave  the  room,  and  he  is 
alone  with  the  time-bomb,  which  he  is  unable  to  di>;pose  of.  To  make  the  scene  logical 
and  well  motivated,  we  must  ask,  "Why  is  he  unable  to  dispose  of  the  bomb?"  Let 
us  say,  then,  that  when  he  first  enters  the  room  he  places  the  bomb  in  a  safe,  the  door 
of  which  is  open,  and  then  closes  the  safe,  and  twists  the  combination.  The  bomb  is 
set  and  he  is  unable  to  open  the  safe  door.  The  door  of  the  room  is  closed  to  him 
through  tlie  jamming  of  the  lock. 

Why  then  does  he  not  get  out  of  the  window?  As  he  approaches  the  window  he 
sees  an  officer  of  the  law  standing  just  below,  or  perhaps  it  is  a  person  that  knows  that 
he  has  threatened  the  life  of  the  enemy  whom  he  supposed  was  hiding  in  the  room, 
or  perhaps  the  windows  are  barred. 

7t 


All  of  these  suggestions,  as  I  have  said,  are  crude,  but  they  lead  to  the  situation 
of  the  man  being  in  the  room  with  no  possibility  of  escape,  and  knowing  that  the 
time  bomb  will  explode  in  fifteen  minutes.  Frantically  he  tries  to  escape  with  no 
avail,  and  at  the  end  of  the  appointed  time  the  bomb  explodes  and  demolishes  the 
building,  blowing  the  man  to  fragments.  Such  a  situation  would,  of  course,  be  highly 
melodramatic  or  of  a  burlesque  comedy  nature.  The  point  that  I  desire  to  make  is 
what  the  man  plans  for  another  recoils  upon  him.  The  element  of  recoil  might  be 
called  direct  and  self-wrought  retribution. 

VALUE  OF  RECOIL. 

41.  Another  instance  might  be  given  as  an  assassin  aiming  a  loaded  gun  at  his 
intended  victim,  and  then  the  gun  exploded  killing  the  would-be  assassin.  The  effects 
of  recoil  may  be  immediate  or  it  may  be  the  result  of  days,  weeks,  or  months,  or  even 
years  of  waiting.  The  quicker  the  effect,  the  more  closely  knit  will  be  the  unity  of 
action.  The  same  rule  holds  good  in  drama  or  comedy,  or  the  various  forms  of  these 
few  general  points  of  construction. 

42.  Still  another  example  of  recoil  springs  to  my  mind.  In  an  old  production, 
entitled  "The  Man  of  Mystery,"  the  "villain"  of  the  piece  prepared  a  poisoned  drink 
and  placed  it  where  his  enemy  would  probably  drink  it.  A  little  later  in  the  piece  the 
murderously-inclined  wretch  absent-mindedly  drained  the  cup  and  died  in  agony.  It 
was  the  recoil  of  his  own  infamous  plan  that  killed  him. 

43.  A  villain  plans  to  do  an  injury  to  another  and  then  walks  into  his  own 
trap.  The  sting  of  the  recoil  is  always  in  the  nature  of  retribution,  but  retribution  is 
not  always  brought  about  through  the  operations  of  recoil — it  may  come  from  a  for- 
eign source. 

ECONOMY. 

44.  Motion  picture  producing  companies  invest  huge  amounts  in  individual 
features,  providing  they  feel  that  the  story  has  sufficient  strength  to  justify  such  in- 
vestment. But  they  are  not  inclined  to  throw  away  money  in  useless  expenditures, 
and  among  other  considerations  that  have  to  do  with  the  acceptance  or  rejection  of  a 
submitted  photoplay,  provided  it  has  enough  merit  to  be  favorably  considered  at  all,  is 
that  of  reasonable  economy.  A  rambling  story  is  undesirable,  not  only  for  its  faulty 
construction,  artistically  speaking,  but  because  it  is  usually  an  expensive  story  to  pro- 
duce. It  is  easier,  in  many  cases,  to  use  twenty  interior  sets  for  the  convenient  dis- 
posal of  characters,  than  to  use  ten.  The  smaller  the  number  of  sets  the  greater  is  the 
skill  required  to  manipulate  the  characters  of  a  story,  keeping  them  separated  for 
the  sake  of  good  continuity. 

45.  In  the  instance  of  "For  Husbands  Only,"  it  would  have  been  exceedingly 
easy  to  use  many  more  sets,  and  it  would  have  been  much  more  convenient  in  writing 
the  story.  Yet  this  six-reel  ston,'  is  told  in  its  completeness  with  an  exceedingly  small 
number  of  sets.  Exteriors  do  not  have  to  be  limited  so  far  as  economy  is  concerned, 
for  they  are  obtained  at  little  or  no  cost.  Stories  with  a  foreign  locale  are  undesirable 
for  this  reason  as  well  as  for  the  fact  that  they  are  not  as  much  in  demand,  as  a  gen- 
eral rule,  as  tales  of  our  country.  In  producing  a  story  of  China  or  Eg\'pt  or  any 
distant  country,  the  construction  of  buildings  and  entire  streets  is  necessitated.  This 
is  done  with  wonderful  artistic  skill  and  almost  unbelievable  detail  when  a  story  is 
big  and  vital  enough  to  warrant  such  expense. 

46.  Scenes  necessitating  the  chartering  of  yachts  or  the  engagement  of  unusually 
large  numbers  of  actors  or  any  such  great  expense  must  have  great  strength  of  story 
behind  them,  or  their  expense  will  out-balance  their  value. 

72 


SMALL    CASTS. 

47.  A  story  should  be  told  with  the  use  of  as  few  people  as  it  is  consistent  with 
actual  needs  and  values.  Frequently,  upon  looking  over  a  rough  draft  of  a  scenario, 
the  author  may  find  that  one  character  can  easily  do  the  work  assigned  to  two  or 
three,  without  in  the  least  injuring  the  smooth  action  of  the  story.  It  might  be 
easier,  in  a  lazy  way,  to  use  the  larger  number  of  characters,  but  the  easiest  way  is 
seldom  the  best,  in  photoplay  writing  or  any  other  line  of  eft'ort. 

Large  casts  are  undesirable,  not  alone  on  account  of  the  expense  involved,  but 
because  they  clog  the  action  of  the  story.  Time  and  film  footage  are  required  to  in- 
troduce a  large  number  of  characters,  and  the  separate  action  of  so  many  has  a  ten- 
dency to  confuse  the  audience  and  thus  mar  the  story  as  a  whole.  The  author  of 
"For  Husbands  Only,"  could  easily  have  introduced  a  sister  of  Van,  a  brother  of  Toni. 
In  "Gates  of  Brass,"  we  might  have  seen  Blake's  wife.  But  such  characters  would 
have  been  superfluous  and  would  have  hurt  the  story,  in  each  case,  rather  than 
helped  it. 

48.  The  effort  toward  telling  a  story  with  a  minimum  of  sets  and  of  people 
should  not  be  allowed  to  go  to  an  extreme,  to  the  detriment  of  the  story  itself,  but 
where  there  is  any  doubt,  safety  usually  lies  on  the  side  of  a  small  cast  and  a  reason- 
ably small  number  of  interior  sets. 

MYSTERY. 

49.  An  effective  means  of  arousing  and  sustaining  the  interest  of  the  audience 
and  of  creating  suspense,  is  the  injection  into  the  storj'  of  an  element  of  mystery.  In 
another  chapter  mention  is  made  of  the  value  of  taking  the  audience  into  the  confidence 
of  the  author,  "letting  them  in"  on  information  that  is  not  possessed  by  various  char- 
acters in  the  story.  At  other  times  it  is  well  to  keep  the  spectators  in  ignorance  and 
expectation.  Suspense  is  sometimes  founded  on  mysterj',  although  in  many  cases  it 
is  not. 

50.  For  instance,  we  may  see  a  burglar  enter  a  house  at  night.  A  woman  is 
alone  in  the  house,  her  husband  being  at  his  oflice,  five  miles  away.  She  sees  the 
burglar,  creeps  to  a  telephone,  quietly  gets  her  husband's  number  and  barely  has  time 
to  cry  "HELP"  into  the  phone  when  the  intruder  dashes  the  receiver  from  her  hand, 
binds  and  gags  her,  and  starts  to  ransack  the  place.  Meanwhile  the  husband  rushes 
out  of  his  office,  leaps  into  his  automobile  and  starts  for  home.  By  the  use  of  the 
"cut-back"  we  see,  first  the  burglar  at  work,  the  wife  struggling  to  free  herself,  then 
the  husband  speeding  toward  home.  The  burglar  gets  what  he  was  after  and  prepares 
to  leave  the  house,  stopping  to  insult  or  taunt  the  struggling  woman. 

51.  The  husband  is  coming  nearer  and  nearer.  Suspense  is  created  by  keeping 
the  audience  in  doubt  as  to  whether  the  husband  is  going  to  arrive  in  time  to  save  the 
valuables  that  the  burglar  is  preparing  to  take  away,  or  whether  he  is  going  to  be  too 
late.  The  burglar  may  tip  over  a  lamp  as  he  departs,  setting  fire  to  the  house.  This 
adds  to  the  suspense,  as  the  wife  is  In  danger  of  being  burned  to  death  before  her  hus- 
band arrives.  These  scenes  would  create  the  height  of  suspense,  but  there  would  be 
no  mystery — merely  alternating  hope  and  despair,  with  doubt  hovering  over  the  entire 
sequence  of  scenes. 

53.  But  if  the  woman,  in  a  similar  story,  had  seen  a  hand  rc.ich  through  a  win- 
dow and  grasp  a  valuable  paper  or  an  object  of  any  sort,  and  disappear  with  it.  and  if, 
as  a  result,  a  general  pursuit  was  started  in  an  endeavor  to  regain  the  stolen  property, 

7S 


we  would  have  an  element  of  mystery.  If  there  had  previously  been  established  two  or 
more  characters,  each  of  whom  desired  to  obtain  the  article  which  is  later  seen  t&ken 
by  the  mysterious  hand,  the  mystery  is  increased,  for  we  are  in  wonder  as  to  which  of 
these  characters  is  guilty. 

53.  Detective  stories  are  nearly  all  founded  on  mystery,  which  accounts  for 
their  continued  popularity,  even  when  it  sometimes  seems  that  they  have  been  done 
from  every  possible  angle.  People  never  tire  of  having  a  mystery  presented  to  them 
and  matching  their  wits  against  the  conditions  that  exist  in  the  story.  Such  tales 
require  skill  and  artistic  handling,  for  it  is  very  easy  to  fall  into  cheap  and  illogical 
plots  when  dealing  with  mystery.  But  a  touch  of  this  element  in  a  strong  story  is 
acceptable. 


74 


CHAPTER  XIII 
Drama 

1.  Photoplays  may  be  largely  divided  into  two  classes — drama  and  comedy. 
Melodrama  is  a  sort  of  drama,  commonly  romantic  and  sensational  in  character. 
Comedy-drama  embraces  a  dramatic  foundation  with  a  strong  element  of  comedy — 
drama  written  for  laughing  purposes.  All  drama  may  be  lightened  with  touches  of 
comedy  in  order  to  relieve  its  austerity. 

2.  Considering  drama  in  the  broad  and  abstract  sense,  it  may  be  useful  to  quote 
Ferdinand  Brunetiere,  who  says  in  "Etudes  Critiques":  "The  theatre  in  general  is 
nothing  but  the  place  for  the  development  of  the  human  will,  attacking  the  obstacles 
opposed  to  it  by  destiny,  fortune,  or  circumstances.  *****  Drama  is  a  representa- 
tion of  the  will  of  man  in  conflict  with  the  mysterious  powers  or  natural  forces  which 
limit  and  belittle  us;  it  is  one  of  us  thrown  living  upon  the  stage,  there  to  struggle 
against  fatality,  against  social  law,  against  one  of  his  fellow  mortals,  against  himself, 
if  need  be,  against  the  ambition,  the  interest,  the  prejudices,  the  folly,  the  malevolence 
of  those  who  surround  him." 

3.  Thus  we  return  to  the  general  definition  that  drama  is  Conflict,  Struggle — 
for  in  this  basic  sense,  that  which  is  true  of  the  speaking  stage  is  equally  applicable  to 
the  screen.  William  Archer  in  his  manual  of  craftsmanship  of  the  speaking  stage 
entitled  "Playmaking,"  cites  examples  of  plays  which  do  not  involve  conflict,  or  which 
depend  upon  an  exceedingly  small  amount  of  struggle  or  strife,  but  he  adds:  "We 
need  go  no  further  than  the  simple  psychological  observation  that  human  nature  loves 
a  fight,  whether  it  be  with  clubs  or  with  swords,  with  tongues  or  with  brains." 

SEQUENCE  OF  INCIDENTS  INSUFFICIENT. 

4.  Thus  it  appears  that  a  mere  string  of  incidents  in  the  life  of  a  character  or  in 
the  lives  of  several  characters,  even  though  they  may  be  novel  and  interesting,  does 
not  give  us  a  drama.  We  must  have  conflict,  and  we  must  have  obstacles.  There  may 
be  obstacles  between  two  lovers,  obstacles  between  a  fortune  and  the  man  who  seeks 
to  obtain  it,  obstacles  between  hidden  treasure  and  those  who  search  for  it.  There 
must  be  obstacles  to  retard  the  progress  of  a  drama  toward  the  almost  inevitable  happy 
ending;  if  the  action  flows  smoothly  and  easily  toward  such  ending  we  do  not  appre- 
ciate it  when  we  finally  arrive  at  the  finish  of  the  storj' — it  is  all  flat  and  uninterest- 
ing. The  conflict  between  characters  and  the  struggle  against  obstacles  terminates  in 
a  crisis  which  we  call  the  climax. 

CRISIS   IS   ESSENCE  OF  DRAMA. 

5.  To  again  quote  William  Archer:  "Perhaps  we  shall  scarcely  come  nearer  to  a 
helpful  definition  than  if  we  say  that  the  essence  of  drama  is  Crisis.  A  play  is  a  more 
or  less  rapidly  developing  crisis  in  destiny  or  circumstance,  and  a  dramatic  scene  is  a 
crisis  within  a  crisis,  clearly  furthering  the  ultimate  events."  A  crisis  is  in  effect  a 
dramatic  situation.  "But  manifestly,"  continues  Archer,  "it  is  not  every  crisis  that 
is  dramatic.  A  serious  illness,  a  law  suit,  a  bankruptcy,  even  an  ordinary  prosaic 
marriage  may  be  a  crisis  in  a  man's  life  without  being  necessarily,  or  even  probably, 
material  for  drama.  How  then  are  we  to  distinguish  a  dramatic  from  a  non-dramatic 
crisis?     Generally  I  think  by  the  fact  that  it  develops  or  can  be  made  naturally  to 

75 


develop  through  a  series  of  minor  crises  involving  more  or  less  emotional  excitement 
and,  if  possible,  the  vivid  manifestation  of  character." 

6.  The  case  of  bankruptcy  is  given  as  an  example.  The  gradual  series  of  small 
discouragements  and  misfortunes  that  lead  slowly  but  surely  toward  financial  decline 
are  not  likely  to  be  dramatic,  but  the  approach  of  bankruptcy  through  a  series  of  sud- 
den sharp  crises,  supplies  real  drama.  The  arrival  of  an  unexpected  telegram  announc- 
ing the  complete  loss  of  fortune,  in  the  midst  of  Christmas  festivities  is  a  dramatic 
crisis,  one  indeed  that  has  been  used  with  variations  until  it  is  hackneyed. 

REAL  DRAMA. 

7.  In  "Gates  of  Brass"  we  have  a  crisis  which  is  the  essense  of  drama  in  the 
sequence  of  scenes  in  which  Margaret  overhears  the  conversation  bet%veen  her  father, 
whom  she  has  worshipped  as  the  kind,  generous  man  that  he  had  always  been  to  her, 
and  the  woman  who  has  been  brought  to  poverty  through  Blake's  crookedness.  This 
is  a  cisis  in  Margaret's  life,  and  after  she  has  investigated  and  found  it  to  be  true  that 
her  father  is  a  remorseless  swindler,  her  return  to  the  house  leads  to  a  crisis  in  Blake's 
life  as  she  denounces  him  and  tells  him  that  she  will  not  live  another  minute  on  stolen 
money,  and  then  departs,  slamming  the  door  upon  the  scene  of  the  stunned,  heart- 
broken man. 

OTHER  EXAMPLES. 

8.  There  is  real  drama  in  the  situation  of  two  brothers  in  opposing  armies  meet- 
ing face  to  face  upon  the  field  of  battle.  Equally  dramatic  is  the  crisis  which  arises 
from  a  man  who  has  wooed  and  won  a  beautiful  girl  whom  he  loved  and  who  loved 
him,  being  informed,  as  he  leaves  the  altar,  that  his  wife  is  his  own  sister,  from  whom 
he  had  been  parted  in  childhood.  Both  of  these  crises  are,  in  fact,  so  intensely  dramatic 
that  they  have  been  used  repeatedly  both  upon  the  speaking  stage  and  in  screen  drama, 
and  to  such  an  extent  that  they  are  hackneyed  to  a  degree  which  practically  prohibits 
their  repetition.  It  is  the  conflict,  struggle,  and  the  obstacles  that  lead  to  situations 
or  crises  and  bring  about  suspense  as  the  eventual  result  is  deferred,  that  supply  ma- 
terial for  drama,  but  it  is  such  of  these  elements  that  tug  at  the  heart-strings  and  deal 
with  the  portrayal  of  real,  human  characters  and  human  relationships  that  make  for 
genuine  human  drama  of  the  sort  for  which  photoplay  producers  are  eagerly  searching. 

9.  The  superficial  things  of  life,  such  as  politics  and  business,  are  not  of  real 
dramatic  quality  except  as  they  are  reflected  in  their  effect  upon  the  people  involved. 
There  is  nothing  dramatic  about  Blake  cheating  his  real  estate  victims  out  of  their 
money,  but  there  is  real  drama  In  the  effect  that  this  eventually  has  in  taking  away 
from  him  his  daughter,  the  one  thing  in  the  world  that  he  loves  above  all  others. 


76 


CHAPTER  XIV 
Comedy 

1.  Good  comedy  is  more  difficult  to  write  than  good  drama,  all  things  being 
equal,  for  the  reason  that  more  skill  and  originalitj'  is  required  to  make  tiie  average 
audience  laugh  than  is  needed  in  appealing  to  the  emotions  awakened  or  stimulated 
by  drama.  This  is  not  conceded  by  some  writers,  but  actual  tests  seldom  result  in 
any  other  decision.  The  comedy  of  a  few  years  ago,  built  of  a  string  of  disconnected 
incidents,  is  no  longer  sought,  and  scenarios  containing  no  more  than  such  a  sequence 
of  incidents  are  not  in  demand  and  have  no  value  whatever.  There  must  be  a  well 
defined  plot  as  a  basis  for  every  comedy,  constructed  in  much  the  same  manner  as  a 
dramatic  photoplay  plot.  The  incidents,  which  are  an  aid  to  humorous  situations  in 
obtaining  laughs,  must  in  themselves  be  laughable,  but  they  are  of  no  value  unless 
there  be  a  plot  to  hang  them  on.  And  there  must  be  legitimate  reasons  for  such  inci- 
dents— they  must  not  "just  happen"  in  comedy  any  more  than  in  drama.  A  man 
may  be  "ducked"  in  a  lake  or  a  watering-trough,  but  those  who  duck  him  must  have  a 
motive  for  doing  so.  One  character  may  hit  another  with  a  pie  (although  the  pie  as 
a  weapon  is  now  conceded  to  be  obsolete,  even  in  comedy),  but  the  assailant  must  have 
a  reason  for  wielding  the  pie.  He  may  have  thrown  it  at  someone  else,  and  the  victim 
may  have  come  into  range  by  accident,  but  in  this  case  there  must  be  a  reason  for  his 
so  coming  into  range.  Nothing  may  be  allowed  to  merely  happen,  any  more  than  in 
photodrama. 

CONTRIBUTORY    FACTIONS    NECESS.ARY. 

2.  The  lack  of  contributory  factions  is  a  great  fault  found  in  a  large  propor- 
tion of  alleged  comedies  submitted  to  producers.  I  have  read  hundreds  which  concern 
a  single  character,  frequently  named  "Charlie,"  or  "Fatty,"  showing  that  the  writer 
had  a  particular  star  in  mind.  In  these  manuscripts  Charlie  or  Fatty,  or  whatever  the 
character  may  be  called,  is  introduced  at  the  opening,  and  then  follows  a  series  of 
adventures.  Charlie  may  meet  a  hundred  people  casually,  people  who  are  dragged  into 
the  story  merely  for  the  convenience  of  a  comedy  incident,  and  then  dropped.  Such 
manuscripts  are  returned  after  a  glance  from  the  editor.     They  are  utterly  valueless. 

3.  An  analysis  of  any  comedy  that  is  seen  on  the  screen,  with  very  few  excep- 
tions, reveals  a  substantial  plot  at  the  bottom  of  it.  This  plot  may  be  nearly  sub- 
merged with  comedy  incidents,  "gags,"  as  they  are  known  in  studio  vernacular,  but  it 
is  there  nevertheless.  And  the  "gags"  have  a  direct  bearing  on  this  plot.  If  these 
"gags,"  or  comedy  incidents,  are  particularly  funny  it  is  tiiis  very  fact  of  their  highly 
humorous  qualities  that  submerges  the  plot;  but  if  the  plot  were  not  present  the 
"gags"  would  not  be  so  effective  and  the  laughs  not  sure  and  hearty. 

COMEDY  "punch." 

4.  The  "mental  punch"  in  a  comedy  is  contained  in  the  plot;  the  "physical 
punch"  is  scattered  all  through  the  story  in  the  shape  of  gags  and  incidents.  Purely 
"situation  comedy"  is  comedy  depending  upon  humorous  situations  without  the  use  of 
"gags."  Purely  "slap-stick"  comedy,  of  the  old-fashioned  kind,  was  comedy  based  on 
"gags"  without  the  use  of  situations.    Comedy  today,  in  most  cases,  is  a  combination 

77 


of  the  two  forms;  a  situation — or  several  connected  situations — dressed  in  an  ample 
supply  of  humorous  incidents.  These  incidents  hold  the  interest  and  supply  laughs 
while  the  story  is  working  up  to  the  big  laugh  at  the  climax  of  the  story. 

5.  Some  producing  companies  have  gone  to  great  expense,  during  the  past  few 
years,  to  work  up  "thrills."  Automobiles  have  fallen  over  cliffs  and  dashed  through 
brick  walls,  railway  trains  have  collided  and  gone  through  bridges  into  rivers,  aero- 
planes have  chased  fleeing  motor  boats — all  sorts  of  wild  and  daring  feats  have  been 
performed  to  produce  thrills  that  alternated  with  laughs.  But  the  limit  has  been 
reached  and  audiences  do  not  care  for  this  sort  of  comedy  as  much  as  they  did  a  few 
years  ago. 

RECOIL  IN  COMEDY. 

6.  The  most  salable  comedy  today  is  one  built  on  a  substantial  plot  with 
strong  situations.  Recoil  is  useful  in  comedy — a  character  starts  out  to  do  a  vyrong 
to  another,  elaborately  setting  a  trap  of  some  sort,  and  then  falls  into  it  himself.  He 
may  hire  a  prize-fighter  to  "beat  up"  an  enemy,  and  may  later  meet  the  prize-fighter 
and  be  mistaken  for  the  victim  and  receive  the  beating  himself.  And  there  is  the  worn- 
out  situation  of  a  man  who  has  been  caught  flirting  with  a  barber's  wife.  This  man 
goes  into  a  shop  to  get  a  shave  and  looks  up  to  find  that  the  man  with  the  razor  is  the 
husband  that  has  threatened  dire  revenge.  This  has  been  used  so  many  times  that  it 
is  worn  down  to  the  bone,  but  it  serves  as  an  illustration. 

VALUE  OF  SUSPENSE. 

7.  Suspense  has  its  place  in  comedy  the  same  as  in  drama.  A  situation  that  in- 
volves suspense  appeared  in  a  comedy  produced  by  a  well-known  company  a  year  or 
so  ago.  A  husband  was  leaving  his  house  and  his  enemy  placed  a  lighted  bomb  in  his 
suitcase  before  he  left.  When  the  husband  had  gone  this  enemy  had  innocent  cause 
to  accompany  the  man's  wife  to  her  room.  While  he  was  there  the  husband,  who 
had  forgotten  something,  returned  and,  not  finding  his  wife  in  sight,  went  up  to  her 
room.  The  enemy  heard  him  coming  and  hid  in  a  clothes  closet  adjoining  the  room 
of  the  wife.  The  husband  came  in  and  set  the  suitcase  down  and  the  enemy,  peeking 
out,  saw  it  and  saw  a  little  curl  of  smoke  coming  from  it.  He  knew  that  the  bomb 
was  about  to  explode  and  yet  he  knew  that  if  he  came  out  of  hiding  his  presence  in 
the  clothes  closet  of  the  woman  would  be  difificult  to  explain  to  the  husband,  who  was 
already  an  enemy.  This  was,  at  the  time,  a  strong  comedy  situation,  and  the  element 
of  suspense  arising  from  the  hesitation  of  the  man  in  the  closet  and  the  cut-backs  from 
him  to  the  smoking  suitcase,  were  very  effective. 

FUN  MUST  BE  IN  ACTION. 

8.  The  same  situation  has  been  worked  to  death  in  a  hundred  different  ways 
since,  but  it  serves  to  illustrate  the  value  of  a  situation  and  of  suspense  in  comedy. 
One  fault  frequently  found  in  the  manuscripts  submitted  to  comedy  producers  is  the 
apparent  effort  to  be  funny  in  the  telling  of  a  story.  This  is  a  great  mistake.  A 
comedy  synopsis  should  be  told  in  straightforward  and  business-like  language,  telling 
the  story  simply  and  clearly,  just  as  though  it  were  a  drama.  The  producer  does  not 
care  how  funny  you  may  be — what  he  wants  to  know  is  merely,  have  you  a  story  that 
will  be  funny  in  action?  Situations  and  "gags"  should  be  explained  fully  and  clearly, 
but  in  as  few  and  plain  words  as  possible.  Do  not  attempt  pims  or  epigrams — they 
do  not  photograph.  It  is  action  of  a  comedy  nature  that  the  producer  wants,  not  a 
play  on  words.  Many  stories,  which  in  written  form  are  side-splitting  in  their 
humorous  qualities,  are  very  sad  when  put  into  action.     Bear  in  mind  that  in  comedy, 

78 


the  same  as  in  drama,  action  is  the  commodity  of  which  stories  are  built,  if  they  are 
successful  stories.  In  drama  this  action  must  be  interesting  and  absorbing.  In  comedy 
it  must  be  funny. 

9.  Different  comedy  producers  work  along  different  lines — there  is  more  diver- 
sity of  methods  in  comedy  than  among  dramatic  producers.  Therefore  it  is  well 
to  keep  in  touch  with  the  pictures  made  by  the  various  comedy  producers  in  order  to  use 
judgment  in  submitting  your  stories. 


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CHAPTER  XV 
Evolving  a  Plot 

1.  There  are  numerous  ways  of  approaching  the  actual  work  of  writing  a 
photoplay.  But  do  not  allow  the  many  elements  that  have  been  mentioned  in  preced- 
ing chapters  to  become  a  burden  or  in  any  way  discourage  or  hinder  you.  Study  and 
become  familiar  with  all  of  them,  and  have  them  in  the  back  of  your  mind  ready  to 
use  as  a  guide  in  your  work;  then  proceed  upon  your  task,  armed  and  protected  with 
your  full  supply  of  information  and  knowledge,  but  at  no  time  permit  yourself  to  be 
oppressed  by  such  information  and  knowledge. 

2.  First,  let  us  heed  the  statement  of  Aristotle,  that  every  story  must  have  a 
beginning,  a  middle  and  an  end.  This  applies  to  the  photoplay  just  as  it  does  to  the 
novel  and  the  spoken  drama.  The  beginning,  the  middle  and  the  end  are,  in  fact,  the 
exposition,  the  development  and  the  conclusion. 

THE   BEGINNING. 

In  the  exposition  or  beginning  of  our  story,  we  introduce  our  characters  and 
establish  their  relationships  and  environments ;  further,  we  must  awaken  the  interest 
of  our  audience  in  the  story  that  is  to  develop  through  the  middle  portion  of  our 
photoplay,  and  reach  its  conclusion  in  the  climax  that  is  to  be  the  supreme  moment 
of  the  ending. 

3.  Just  where  and  how  to  begin  a  photoplay  is,  perhaps,  the  greatest  problem  of 
the  author.  The  novelist  frequently  opens  his  story  with  the  birth  of  the  principal 
character,  then  relates  the  chronological  series  of  events  that  form  the  life  of  such 
character,  and  such  other  characters  as  are  necessary.  The  result  is  a  fictional  biogra- 
phy. The  photoplaywright,  however,  must  deal  with  a  connected  series  of  crises,  in 
the  life  of  his  principal  character  or  in  the  lives  of  several  principal  characters 
brought  into  close  relationship.     Therefore,  a  definite  starting  point  must  be  chosen. 

4.  Considering  'Tor  Husbands  Only,"  we  may  assume  that  sufficient  material 
existed  in  that  portion  of  Van's  life  preceding  the  opening  of  the  play,  from  which 
to  write  several  other  stories  of,  perhaps,  equal  interest.  In  this  si.x-reel  photoplay 
there  was  only  sufficient  space  to  deal  with  the  period  of  Van's  life  in  which  he  came 
into  direct  and  dramatic  contact  with  Samuel  Dodge  and  Toni  Wylde.  Therefore, 
the  author  was  compelled  to  find  a  starting  point  at  which  to  begin  the  story. 

5.  In  the  analysis  of  the  continuity  of  "For  Husbands  Only"  will  be  found  a 
detailed  description  of  the  interesting,  picturesque  and  brief  manner  in  which  this  was 
accomplished.  Scenes  1  to  169  may  be  regarded  as  the  beginning  or  exposition  of 
"For  Husbands  Only."  The  beginning  of  "Gates  of  Brass"  lies  in  that  portion  of  the 
story  preceding  the  elapse  of  twelve  years. 

6.  In  the  former  instance,  our  three  principal  characters,  Samuel,  Van  and 
Toni,  have  been  introduced,  their  relationship  firmly  established  and  the  interest  and 
expectation  of  the  audience  as  to  subsequent  events  completely  awakened.  In  the  latter 
case,  our  two  principal  characters,  J.  Hatfield  Blake  and  his  daughter,  Margaret, 
have  been  introduced  and  the  audience  has  been  made  acquainted  with  those  circum- 
stances surrounding  their  lives  which  have  so  vital  a  bearing  upon  what  is  to  follow. 

80 


7.  In  the  comedy,  "Speed  and  Suspicion,"  the  beginning  of  the  story  termi- 
nates when  Clinton  and  Barrow  arrange  in  whispers  and  pantomime  to  deceive  the 
motorcycle  officer  and  enter  the  house  with  him,  intent  upon  carr>'ing  out  their  in- 
ceptive plans.  This  is  a  one-reel  story,  and  only  eighteen  scenes  are  used  in  the  be- 
ginning or  exposition.  The  exact  number  of  scenes  is  mentioned  in  these  instances  in 
order  that  the  student  may  carefully  analyze  the  component  parts  of  the  stories  here- 
with given  as  examples. 

8.  In  preparing  a  photoplay  for  submission  it  must  be  written  in  synopsis 
form  and  not  in  continuity;  therefore,  the  dividing  points  between  the  beginning  and 
the  middle,  and  middle  and  the  end  will  not  be  so  distinct.  In  summing  up  the  matter 
of  choosing  the  point  of  attack  and  entering  upon  the  beginning  of  a  photoplay,  let  us 
note   these  pertinent  items: 

9.  First,  let  the  principal  characters  be  introduced  as  early  as  possible.  Second, 
let  their  relationships  be  established  clearly  in  the  minds  of  the  audience.  Endeavor 
to  do  these  things  in  just  as  interesting  a  manner  as  possible.  Third,  strike  the  key- 
note of  the  central  theme  of  the  story  immediately. 

10.  In  "Gates  of  Brass,"  the  whole  story  is  worked  around  the  dishonest  in- 
stincts of  J.  Hatfield  Blake.  Therefore,  in  the  very  first  scene  of  the  produced  photo- 
play this  character  was  found  running  a  crooked  gambling  game  on  a  circus  ground. 
In  "For  Husbands  Only,"  the  story  centers  around  the  conflict  between  Samuel  and 
Van  for  the  affections  of  Toni.  Right  at  the  opening  of  the  story  we  find  Van  trying 
to  embarrass  Samuel  and  to  win  Toni  by  fair  means  or  foul.  In  Cecil  B.  de  Mille's 
"Don't  Change  Your  Husband,"  the  story  concerns  the  waning  of  a  wife's  affection 
on  account  of  her  husband's  careless  personal  habits  and  slovenly  mannerisms. 

In  the  opening  scene  we  found  the  husband  selfishly  reading  the  newspaper  and 
ignoring  the  fact  that  his  wife  was  lonely  and  longing  for  his  attentions.  In  "The 
Girl  Dodger,"  played  by  Charles  Ray,  the  main  theme  had  to  do  with  a  series  of  situa- 
tions brought  about  by  the  extreme  bashfulness  of  the  central  character,  and  so,  right 
at  the  beginning  we  found  this  young  man  getting  himself  into  a  mix-up  through  this 
very  quality  of  bashfulness.  These  examples  illustrate  the  necessity  of  striking  the 
keynote  of  the  story  at  the  very  beginning — in  the  first  scene  if  possible.  Every  bit  of 
action  must  mean  something.    Visualize  such  action  and  analyze  its  screen  value. 

11.  Fourth,  see  to  it  that  the  events  taking  place  in  this  first  portion  of  the  storj' 
are  of  such  a  nature  as  to  arouse  the  curiosity  of  the  audience  and  make  them  eager 
for  the  development  and  ending  of  the  story.  Briefly,  we  are  placing  the  audience  in 
possession  of  information  that  gives  rise  to  a  quality  of  gradually  increasing  suspense 
and  we  are  doing  this  in  just  as  crisp  and  interesting  a  way  as  we  can. 

12.  It  is  useful  to  consider  the  different  ways  in  which  our  friends  or  acquaint- 
ances approach  us  and  tell  a  story  or  relate  the  details  of  something  that  has  occurred. 
One  will  be  rambling,  will  repeat  himself,  will  perhaps  get  into  the  middle  of  his 
story  and  then  recall  that  he  has  forgotten  something  of  importance  that  should  have 
been  told  at  the  start.  We  lose  all  interest  in  his  tale  and  he  immediately  becomes  a 
bore.  Another  person  is  brief,  interesting  and  entertaining  and  we  enjoy  every  word 
of  what  he  has  to  tell. 

13.  In  writing  a  photoplay,  we  are  telling  a  story  with  the  difference  that  in- 
stead of  using  words  we  are  setting  down  a  complete  statement  of  visualized  action, 
but  by  keeping  in  mind  the  difference  between  the  awkward,  rambling  stoo-teller 
and  the  directly  interesting  one,  we  will,  perhaps,  prevent  ourselves  from  falling  into 
careless  methods. 

81 


14.  In  considering  the  first  part  or  exposition  of  your  photoplay,  liken  it  to  the 
manner  in  which  an  acquaintance  recounts  something  that  he  has  just  seen.  He  says, 
"Just  as  I  was  passing  the  corner  of  Twenty-second  and  Broadway  I  saw  a  man  and 
woman  quarreling.  I  knew  they  were  engaged  to  be  married,  because  I  heard  her 
mention  the  engagement  ring  which  she  was  handing  back  to  him.  Then  I  heard  her 
mutter,  'Father!'  as  an  elderly  man  approached,  and  she  hurriedly  opened  her  hand- 
bag and  handed  a  dead  snake  to  the  man  with  whom  she  had  been  quarreling.  He 
smiled,  thrust  the  snake  into  his  pocket,  she  took  his  arm  and  they  disappeared  around 
the  corner,  followed  by  her  father,  who  had  caught  sight  of  them.  Well,  I  followed 
them,  and — ." 

There  you  have  your  first  part  or  exposition.  The  story-teller  has  introduced 
three  characters,  established  their  relationships  and  aroused  curiosity  as  to  what  hap- 
pened after  he  followed  them  around  the  corner.  The  example  given  is  crude,  and 
yet  it  is  simple  and  clear. 

THE   MIDDLE. 

15.  Having  succeeded  in  getting  the  story  under  way  we  find  ourselves  entering 
the  middle,  or  period  of  development.  It  is  in  this  portion  of  a  photoplay  that  it  is 
most  necessary  to  avoid  disastrous  departure  from  the  unity,  for  having  started  our 
characters  on  their  several  ways  it  is  exceedingly  easy  to  allow  them  to  wander  over 
too  much  territory  and  to  involve  too  great  elapses  of  time.  It  is  also  easy  to  intro- 
duce new  characters  as  a  matter  of  convenience  and  then  abruptly  drop  them  out  of 
the  story.    This  should  be  avoided  to  just  as  great  an  extent  as  possible. 

Of  course,  incidental  characters  are  sometimes  necessary.  In  "Gates  of  Brass," 
the  poor  woman  whom  Blake  had  cheated  out  of  her  savings  and  who  interrupted 
Blake  and  Margaret  while  they  were  busy  at  the  Christmas  tree,  was  an  incidental 
character,  and  yet  she  was  highly  important.  In  fact,  it  was  her  entrance  in  the  life 
of  Margaret  that  turned  its  whole  tide  and,  revealing  to  her  the  real  nature  of  her 
father,  caused  her  to  leave  and  scorn  him.  But  in  considering  the  introduction  of  a 
character  into  a  story  the  cause  should  be  carefully  weighed,  and  if  it  is  found  that 
the  story  can  be  smoothly  and  interestingly  carried  forward  without  such  incidental 
character  it  is  better  to  do  so. 

Throughout  the  middle  portion  of  the  story  we  must  realize  the  value  of  dramatic 
situations  and  the  desirability  of  the  suspense  that  arises  therefrom.  We  must  further 
realize  that  each  situation  must  build  logically  to  the  next  and  that  all  must  event- 
ually terminate  in  the  big  climactic  situation  that  forms  the  final  apex.  What  William 
Archer  says  in  his  volume  on  play-making  applies  with  equal  pertinency  to  the  creation 
of  a  photoplay.  "A  reasonable  audience  will,  if  necessar\',  endure  a  certain  amount  of 
exposition,  a  certain  positing  of  character  and  circumstance,  before  the  tension  (sus- 
pense) sets  in;  but  when  it  once  has  set  in,  the  playwright  must  on  no  account  suffer 
it  to  relax  until  he  deliberately  resolves  it  just  before  the  fall  of  the  curtain. 

"That  is  implied  when  we  say  that  a  play  consists  of  a  great  crisis  worked  out 
through  a  series  of  minor  crises  but  the  main  tension  (suspense),  once  initiated,  must 
never  be  relaxed.  If  it  is,  the  play  is  over,  though  the  author  may  have  omitted  to  note 
the  fact,  but  not  infrequently  he  begins  a  new  play,  under  the  impression  that  he  is 
finishing  the  old  one." 

16.  This  suspense  may  be  temporarily  relaxed  as  one  situation  reaches  its  cul- 
mination and  another  starts  to  grow  out  of  it,  but  this  relaxation  serves  only  as  a  tem- 
porary breathing  space  for  the  audience.     The  main  line  of  suspense  leading  to  the 

82 


final  climax  is  almost  immediately  resumed  and  heightened.  In  "For  Husbands 
Only,"  considering  the  story  from  scene  183,  where  Toni  telephones  to  Van,  the  main 
line  of  suspense  starts. 

We  see  the  newly-married  girl  flirting  with  a  man  that  we  know  to  be  danger- 
ous and  ruthless.  We  see  them  make  an  appointment  and  we  begin  to  fear  for  Toni's 
loyalty  and  safety.  This  suspense  continues  until  in  scene  219  Toni's  note  to  Samuel 
is  revealed  to  us  and  then  we  realize  that  she  is  merely  playing  a  game.  Here  the 
suspense  "lets  down"  for  a  brief  period,  but  when,  a  short  time  later,  we  see  Toni 
invite  Van  to  call  at  her  home  during  Samuel's  absence,  our  fears  for  her  are  re- 
sumed and  the  suspense  begins  to  heighten  again. 

So,  from  situation  to  situation  throughout  the  story,  the  suspense  rises  and  falls, 
and  yet  the  central  thought  that  Van  may  eventually  succeed  in  winning  Toni,  car- 
ries along  with  it  the  main  line  of  suspense  that  is  not  relieved  until  the  apex  of  the 
final  climax  is  reached  and  Samuel  says,  "I  slept  through  the  whole  darn  show!" 

17.  Throughout  this  middle  portion  of  the  photoplay  we  must  continue  to  re- 
member that  we  are  dealing  with  action  and  not  dialogue  or  description.  We  must 
keep  screen  values  constantly  before  us.  We  must  visualize  our  story  as  it  is  to  appear 
before  our  eyes  upon  the  screen. 

18.  All  novels,  stage  plays  and  photoplays  have  similar  fundamentals  of  con- 
struction and  yet  the  important  differences  must  ever  be  in  our  thoughts.  It  is  not  at 
all  unusual  to  become  so  absorbed  in  the  movement  of  a  story  that  its  screen  values 
may  be  overlooked  and  it  may  wander  oflE  into  book  or  stage  material.  The  constant 
use  of  visualization  and  the  never-ceasing  realization  that  a  screen  story  must  be  told 
in  action  and  not  in  words  will  assist  the  photoplaj'wright  to  avoid  such  pitfalls.  At 
the  same  time  throughout  the  building  of  the  story  attention  must  be  given  to  all  of 
the  other  fundamentals  that  have  been  mentioned  in  preceding  chapters. 

19.  Our  characters  must  be  kept  human  and  natural.  There  must  be  a  legiti- 
mate motive  for  everything  that  occurs.  Every  event,  every  bit  of  action  must  be 
possible  and  plausible  and  yet  these  things  need  never  be  a  burden  if  careful  study  is 
given  to  the  various  vita!  points  of  construction  before  the  student  starts  to  create  a 
story.  The  knowledge  thus  absorbed  will  become  second  nature  and  the  work  will 
proceed  smoothly  and  without  running  into  puzzling  blind-alleys. 

THE  END. 

20.  Having  passed  through  the  beginning  and  middle  of  the  story  we  approach 
the  end.  This  later  portion  of  the  photoplay  involves  the  climax  and  the  termina- 
tion with  which  the  whole  story  "fades  out."  This  climax  should  be  dramatic  and 
definite.  It  should  be  the  natural  result  of  all  that  has  gone  before.  In  "For  Hus- 
bands Only,"  the  situation  in  which  Samuel,  Toni  and  Van  find  themselves,  after 
Samuel  has  returned  from  the  presentation  of  Van's  play,  forms  a  highly  final  crisis 
and  the  climax  that  grows  out  of  this  is  of  an  intense  dramatic  quality.  Aside  from 
this  it  is  final.  When  Van  leaves  the  house  and  Toni  casts  herself,  sobbing,  into 
Samuel's  arms,  we  know  that  all  the  unpleasantness  arising  from  Van's  pursuit  of 
Toni  is  over. 

21.  The  difficulty  of  reaching  a  climax  that  is  at  the  same  time  definite  and 
dramatic  is  realized  by  William  Archer,  when  he  says,  "But  how  few  crises  come  to  a 
definite  or  dramatic  conclusion.  Nine  times  out  of  ten  they  end  in  some  petty  com- 
promise or  do  not  end  at  all,  but  simply  subside  like  the  waves  of  the  sea  when  the 
storm  has  blown  itself  out.  It  is  the  playwright's  chief  difficulty  to  find  a  crisis  with 
an  ending  that  satisfies  at  once  his  artistic  conscience  and  the  requirements  of  dramatic 
effect." 

83 


22.  A  weak  or  unnatural  climax  may  ruin  the  entire  effect  of  a  photoplay. 
Right  from  the  start  the  action  may  be  interesting  and  the  suspense  intense  and  com- 
pelling, yet  when  the  end  is  reached  if  a  flimsy,  illogical  and  clap-trap  termination 
serves  as  a  climax  the  audience  will  inevitably  leave  the  theatre  dissatisfied  and  with  a 
feeling  that  they  have  been  cheated.  Better  a  stor>'  with  more  or  less  weak  action 
throughout  and  a  big  vital,  dramatic  climax  than  a  strong  story  with  a  weak  ending. 
Neither,  of  course,  is  desirable. 

The  ideal  toward  which  all  of  us  must  work  is  the  story  that  arouses  interest 
right  at  the  start  and  that  increases  in  interest  and  suspense  as  it  moves  along  on  an 
ever-rising  plane  until  it  reaches  the  smashing  climax  and  the  satisfactory  termina- 
tion with  which  we  "fade  out." 

23.  It  is  quite  as  necessary  to  know  when  to  end  a  story  as  it  is  to  decide  where 
to  begin  it.  Many  a  story  has  been  started  and  worked  out  to  the  point  where  a 
satisfactory  ending  must  be  reached  only  to  find  that  the  action  has  drifted  into  a 
blind-alley  from  which  there  is  no  exit.  "A  blind-alley  scene,  as  its  name  imports, 
is  one  from  which  there  is  no  exit.  It  is  a  problem  incapable  of  solution,  or  rather 
of  which  all  possible  solutions  are  equally  unsatisfactory  and  undesirable."  It  is  for 
this  reason  that  it  is  well  to  visualize  a  story  in  a  general  way  before  attempting  to 
set  it  down  on  paper. 

24.  Some  writers  establish  a  premise  and  work  it  out  to  its  conclusion ;  others 
start  with  the  effect  and  work  back  to  the  cause.  I  fancy  that  Lois  Weber  hit  upon 
the  surprise  climax  of  "For  Husbands  Only,"  before  working  up  the  details  of  the 
story  itself.  Hence,  this  story  serves  as  an  example  of  working  either  forward  or 
backward. 

25.  The  author  might  have  said,  "Let  us  suppose  that  an  innocent  girl  is  pur- 
sued by  a  rake,  who  desires  her  for  a  brief  love  affair,  and  a  good  man  who  wants  to 
marry  her.  Let  us  further  suppose  that,  in  order  to  avenge  an  insult  from  the  rake, 
she  plans  to  lead  him  gradually  on  and  on  in  order  to  disappoint  him  at  the  finish." 
In  this  way  the  story  might  have  been  built  gradually  step  by  step  and  situation  by 
situation  until  the  time  for  a  climax  arrived,  when  the  author  having  placed  Toni  in  a 
predicament  from  which  there  seemed  to  be  no  possible  escape,  might  have  cast  about 
for  the  little  twist  necessary  to  relieve  the  situation  and  lead  to  the  satisfactory 
termination. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  author  might  have  conceived  the  situation  which  forms 
the  climax  of  the  story  and  then  said,  "Now  what  shall  I  do  in  order  to  bring  these 
characters  up  to  this  situation  in  an  interesting  manner?"  Whereupon  it  would  have 
been  necessary  to  go  back  and  visualize  a  beginning  and  work  toward  the  definite 
climax  already  decided  upon. 

26.  I  have  found  the  latter  method  of  working  backward  from  effect  to  cause 
to  be  the  most  practical,  but  there  need  be  no  set  rule  in  this  matter — the  object  de- 
sired is  a  story,  as  nearly  flawless  as  possible.  The  means  of  gaining  that  end  is  of  in- 
different importance.  Regardless  of  method  or  means,  proceed  slowly,  thoughtfully 
and  carefully.  Think!  Bring  your  imagination  into  play,  tempered  with  reason, 
logic  and  the  knowledge  of  construction  with  which  you  have  equipped  yourself. 
Put  yourself  in  the  place  of  your  characters  as  you  manipulate  them — assume  their 
separate  viewpoints  as  you  move  them  about  in  the  fascinating  chess-game  of  photo- 
play creation.  Try  to  think,  for  the  moment,  as  they  would  think — making,  as  a  re- 
sult, their  every  move  human  and  natural.  Do  not  hesitate  to  change  and  twist  your 
plot  about. 

S4 


KEEPING  A  PLOT  FLUID. 

27.  The  most  frequent  and  grievous  fault  that  I  have  found  among  untrained 
individuals  who  try  to  write  scenarios  is  the  obstinate  and  non-elastic  mind,  the  sin- 
gle-track horse-car  line  of  thinking,  and  this  wholly  from  lack  of  training  or  from  a 
wrong  conception  of  the  orderly  quest  of  a  plot. 

28.  One  young  woman  to  whom  I  returned  a  manuscript  while  I  was  manag- 
ing editor  of  a  producing  company  in  Los  Angeles,  secured  a  personal  interview  with 
me  and  I  pushed  aside  the  work  of  a  particularly  busy  day  to  show  her  where  her  plot 
was  wrongly  constructed  and  how  to  change  it,  and  thus  greatly  improved  what  was 
not  a  good  stor>'  at  best.  Whereupon  she  quoted  a  line  that  she  had  read  somewhere, 
embodying  the  statement  that  the  true  poet  scorns  to  mend  his  verse,  and  arguing 
therefrom  and  therefore  that  a  scenario  writer  should  scorn  to  change  his  or  her  plot, 
hanging  on  the  first  inspiration  for  dear  life.    Whereas,  the  contrary  is  the  truth. 

With  rare  exceptions,  so  rare  as  to  be  practically  nil,  a  scenario  of  merit  is  the 
result  of  many  eliminations  and  additions,  of  tearing  down  here  and  building  up 
there,  possibly  hitting  upon  a  new  line  of  thought  that  changes  the  whole  trend  of  the 
story  after  its  first  completion.  Never  be  satisfied  until  you  believe  that  there  is  not 
a  flaw  or  weakness  in  your  manuscript  that  can  be  remedied. 

29.  Select  a  theme  or  a  situation,  or  sequence  of  situations,  from  which  a  plot 
may  be  built  and  give  ample  preliminary  thought  to  every  angle  before  you  decide 
upon  a  choice  of  treatment.  When  you  have  done  so,  you  will  be  possessed  merely  of 
material  to  work  with ;  j'our  actual  work  has  just  started.  Keep  your  mind  open  and 
active.  Allow  one  incident  to  suggest  another,  and  if  you  suddenly  run  into  a  new 
vein  of  thought  that  seems  better,  discard  the  old  one,  making  a  note  of  it  for  future 
reference. 

30.  In  working  out  the  details  of  your  plot  do  not  permit  yourself  to  accept  as 
final  the  first  convenient  thought  that  springs  to  your  mind.  For  instance,  suppose 
you  are  dealing  with  the  pursuit  of  a  character  whose  identification  needs  to  be 
established  by  the  pursuer.  An  easy  way  of  accomplishing  this  is  to  allow  the  fugitive 
to  write  a  note  or  telegram  in  ink  and  then,  in  blotting  it,  leave  his  signature  in  re- 
verse upon  the  blotter.  The  pursuer  finds  the  blotter,  holds  it  up  to  a  mirror,  dis- 
covers the  name  of  the  fugitive,  and  upon  this  clue  pursues  until  the  capture  is  made. 

31.  This  is  quite  natural  and  plausible  treatment  and  serves  the  purpose  well, 
but  it  has  not  been  used  more  than  two  or  three  thousand  times  up  to  date,  and, 
therefore,  in  spite  of  its  merit,  it  is  somewhat  hackneyed.  Don't  use  it!  Use  your 
brains  instead  and  originate  some  other  means  of  attaining  the  same  end.  This  is  a 
single  example  of  a  problem  that  will  constantly  arise  in  the  work  of  every  photoplay- 
wright.  The  moral  is:  shun  the  obvious  and  hackneyed  and  use  every  effort  to  be 
original  in  your  treatment  of  the  details  of  plot  construction. 

32.  When  you  have  a  story  worked  out  carefully,  write  it  down  in  detail  and 
lay  it  aside  for  a  day  or  week,  dropping  it  out  of  your  mind.  Wlien  you  finally  dig  it 
up  for  a  critical  review,  you  will  possibly  find  faults  that  you  had  quite  overlooked  in 
the  flush  of  your  first  enthusiasm.  Do  not  prepare  it  for  final  submission  to  a  pro- 
ducing company  until  you  are  satisfied  that  it  is  the  very  best  work  that  you  are 
capable  of.  A  bad  scenario  will  leave  a  negative  impression,  while  a  well-constructed 
story,  even  if  not  available  at  the  time  of  its  submission,  will  leave  a  good  impression, 
and  perhaps  pave  the  way  for  acceptance  next  time. 

33.  Before  sending  your  manuscript  on  its  way  to  possible  purchase  and  pro- 
duction, test  it  to  your  complete  satisfaction,  and  ascertain  if  it  possesses  a  sufficient 

85 


proportion  of  the  requisites  of  success.  Run  through  the  list  of  necessary  or  desirable 
elements  as  set  down  in  the  following  pages  and  check  off  the  items,  one  by  one.  If 
you  find  a  weakness,  see  if  you  can  remedy  it.  Don't  spare  yourself  hard,  painstaking 
work  in  this  critical  analysis  of  your  work — it  may  be  the  difference  between  success 
and  failure,  for  the  line  that  divides  mediocrity  from  perfection  is  a  fine  one,  and  may 
be  erased  only  by  attention  to  little  details. 


S6 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Checking  Up  Details 

1.  When  a  story  has  been  completed  it  is  well  to  apply  every  possible  test  before 
submitting  it  for  sale.  Run  through  the  preceding  pages  and  check  up  the  salient 
necessities. 

Does  your  story  consist  of  visualized  action?  Does  it  possess  that  which  will  be 
of  fundamental  interest  to  the  average  spectator? 

2.  Has  it  a  solid  foundation  of  theme? 

3.  Are  its  premises,  sequence  and  conclusions  of  a  logical  nature?  Does  cause 
lead  naturally  to  effect? 

4.  Are  its  characterizations  true  and  human? 

5.  Does  it  contain  real  drama? 

6.  If  it  is  a  comedy  will  it  be  really  funny  in  action — regardless  of  how  it  reads? 

7.  Is  its  action  constant  and  progressive? 

8.  Is  there  mental  punch  in  the  thought  involved? 

9.  Is  there  sufficient  physical  punch? 

10.  Is  the  growth  and  progress  of  the  story  maintained  throughout,  or  does 
it  falter  or  drop? 

11.  Are  the  qualities  of  beauty,  harmony,  simplicity  and  color  present  to  a 
satisfactorj'  degree? 

12.  Is  there  picturesque  value? 

13.  Have  you  succeeded  in  giving  a  touch  of  novelty  to  the  treatment  of  your 
subject? 

14.  Does  your  treatment  display  a  sympathy  and  a  knowledge  of  human  nature? 

15.  Have  you  skillfully  made  use  of  the  element  of  suspense,  or  is  the  eventual 
outcome  of  your  tale  obvious  throughout? 

16.  Is  the  action,  throughout,  founded  on  reasonable  motive? 

17.  Are  the  incidents  and  events  probable?    Could  they  happen  in  real  life? 

18.  Is  there  a  touch  of  surprise  or  shock?  This  is  not  always  vital  to  the  suc- 
cess of  your  story  but  it  is  frequently  useful. 

19.  Is  there  unity  and  undivided  interest? 

20.  Is  there  recoil  ? 

21.  Is  there  heart  interest?    Is  there  love  interest? 

22.  Does  justice  predominate?  Is  virtue  rewarded  and  does  retribution  de- 
scend upon  the  unjust  and  wicked? 

23.  Have  you  chosen  a  short  but  strong  main-title? 

24.  Is  your  cast  of  characters  as  small  as  is  consistent  with  the  demands  of  your 
story? 

25.  Can  the  story  be  filmed  within  reasonable  limits  of  production  cost,  or  does 
it  call  for  vast  expenditures?  You  can  estimate  this  only  in  a  broad  sense;  do  not 
enter  too  deeply  into  this  subject.     But  if  you  have  included  scenes  that  necessitate 

87 


the  use  of  a  railway  train,  a  private  yacht,  a  battleship  and  an  airplane,  it  would  be 
well  to  reconsider  your  plot.  As  a  scenario  editor,  I  have  perused  numerous  scripts 
with  quite  as  elaborate  an  outlay  as  that  above  mentioned. 

A  REASONABLE  PERCENTAGE. 

26.  Have  you  a  good  strong  climax  and  an  interesting  story  to  lead  up  to  it? 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  your  story  must  possess  a  fullness  of  everything  that  is 
mentioned  in  this  list — if  it  did  you  would  be  ready  to  accept  a  position  as  feature 
writer  at  a  salarj',  the  mention  of  which  would  bring  on  a  state  of  nervous  prostration 
that  would  prohibit  its  acceptance.  But  your  manuscript  should  measure  up  to  sixty 
per  cent  of  these  qualifications,  present  to  a  reasonable  degree  in  each  case. 

27.  To  test  your  story  in  order  to  determine  whether  or  not  it  contains  a  suffi- 
cient amount  of  material,  the  following  is  suggested  provided  that  a  five  or  six-reel 
subject  is  in  hand:  On  a  sheet  of  paper  put  down  the  numbers  from  one  to  fifty — 
opposite  each  write  a  different  incident  of  your  plot,  then  go  over  this  sequence  of 
incidents  and  analyze  them  carefully,  making  sure  that  each  one  is  logical  and  the 
most  effective  that  you  can  devise  for  that  particular  link  in  the  plot  chain. 

If  you  will  remember  that  your  story  requires  from  two  hundred  and  fifty  to 
three  hundred  scenes  or  perhaps  a  few  more,  and  will  work  out  fiftj'  authentic  inci- 
dents each  of  which  will  require  several  scenes  in  production  you  will  have  approxi- 
mately five  reels  of  action.  With  this  rough  plot-outline  before  you,  you  will  find 
the  process  of  elimination  and  revision  much  easier  than  after  you  have  set  down  the 
story   in    fixed   synopsis   form. 

THE  FINAL  SYNOPOSIS. 

28.  Only  after  you  are  sure  that  the  plot-outline  is  as  complicated,  as  logical 
and  as  strong  as  you  can  make  it  begin  to  write  the  final  synopsis.  When  you  are 
satisfied  that  you  have  done  the  best  that  you  know  how  to  live  up  to  this  standard, 
set  about  to  prepare  such  synopsis.  Omit  nothing  that  has  a  direct  bearing  upon  your 
story,  but  present  it  in  the  fewest  number  of  plain,  expressive  words.  Assume  that 
you  are  seated  in  the  office  of  the  producing  company  to  which  you  are  sending  your 
script,  facing  the  editor  and  telling  him  your  story.  And  further  assume  that  there 
are  a  number  of  other  people  waiting  to  claim  some  of  that  editor's  time  and  that 
you  are  trying  to  lay  your  scenario  before  him  in  as  brief,  attractive  and  persuasive  a 
manner  as  possible. 

That,  in  a  measure,  is  the  actual  condition  that  you  are  facing.  But  maintain 
mental  poise — do  not  permit  a  rush  and  scramble  of  language  that  will  fail  to  state 
your  ideas  clearly  and  distinctly,  for,  while  your  story  must  be  told  in  as  brief  a  manner 
as  possible,  it  must  bring  out  all  its  strength  and  value.  If  you  are  in  doubt,  use 
enough  words  to  make  yourself  plainly  understood — but  practice  and  training  will  aid 
you  in  expressing  yourself  in  the  fewest  needed  number. 

Take  plenty  of  time  to  so  arrange  your  synopsis  that  it  will  take  very  little  of 
the  editor's  time.  A  man  once  wrote  a  long  letter  and  added,  in  a  postscript:  "If  I 
had  more  time  this  letter  would  be  shorter."  That  is  the  kernel  of  the  idea  of  good 
synopsis  writing. 

AND  THEN . 

29.  When  you  have  succeeded  in  putting  your  whole  and  complete  idea  into  the 
shortest  form  possible,  review  your  story  carefully  in  your  mind  and  write  a  brief 
synopsis,  stating  the  plot  in  a  few  short,  crisp  sentences.  When  the  two  forms  of 
synopsis  are  complete  and  completely  satisfactory  to  you,  prepare  them  for  mailing, 
following  the  instructions  set  forth  in  the  chapter  on  "How  to  Prepare  a  Synopsis," 
and  end  the  operation  by  dropping  it  in  a  mail-box. 

88 


Then  forget  that  story  as  completely  as  though  you  had  never  heard  of  it,  except 
to  make  a  note  of  the  mailing  date  and  attach  it  to  the  carbon  copy  of  your  manuscript, 
and  start  on  another  plot.  Do  not  rest  on  the  hope  of  selling  the  submitted  story — 
write  another — a  better  one!  Keep  at  it!  When  an  athlete  trains  in  order  to  pos- 
cess  a  perfect  body  he  trains  every  day,  regularly. 

When  you  start  to  train  your  mind  to  the  performance  of  creative,  imaginative 
work,  do  not  allow  a  day  to  pass  without  a  certain  amount  of  work.  If  your  days  are 
given  over  to  other  employment,  choose  an  hour  before  breakfast,  in  which  to  think 
and  create  and  revise.  But,  no  matter  how  little  time  you  are  able  to  take,  let  it  be 
regular  each  day.  An  hour  daily  is  better  than  one  whole  day  a  week.  Persist!  Do 
not  allow  discouragement  to  enter  into  your  calculations! 

If  you  sell  one  story  out  of  several  at  the  start  you  are  to  be  reckoned  with  as  a 
future  success.  If  you  sell  more  than  that  you  are  in  high  gear  with  every  cylinder 
working  smoothly  and  a  clear,  level  road  ahead. 


89 


4 


PART  THREE 


The  Final  Manuscript 


The  Scenario 
Preparation  and  Submission 
Subjects  to  Avoid 
How  to  Study  the  Screen 


91 


SPARE-TIME  STUDY 

Tell  me  how  a  young  man  uses  his  little  ragged  edges  of  time  after  his  day's  work 
is  done,  during  his  long  winter  evenings,  what  he  is  revolving  in  his  mind  at  every 
opportunity,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  that  young  man's  future  wiU  be. 

A  person  might  as  well  say  that  there  is  no  use  in  trying  to  save  anything  from  his 
small  salary  or  income,  because  the  amount  would  never  make  him  rich,  so  he  might  as 
well  spend  it  as  he  goes  along,  as  to  say  he  never  can  get  a  liberal  education  by  studying 
during  his  spare  time.  But  did  you  ever  think  that  scores  of  people  have  given  them- 
selves the  equivalent  of  a  college  education  in  their  spare  moments  and  long  winter 
evenings  ? 

Orison  Swett  Marden. 


■*. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
The  Scenario 

1.  The  photoplay  scenario  in  its  complete  form  may  be  divided  into  two  major 
parts — the  synopsis  and  the  continuity.  I'he  synopsis  is  a  general  view  of  the  story — 
an  abstract  or  summary.  It  may  be  divided  into  two  classes,  the  brief  synopsis,  and 
the  direct  detailed  synopsis.  Auxiliary  to  these  is  the  cast  of  characters.  In  submit- 
ting a  manuscript  for  consideration  and  possible  sale,  it  should  include  nothing  but 
the  main  title,  cast  of  characters,  brief  synopsis,  and  direct  detailed  synopsis. 

That  portion  of  a  manuscript  which  should  be  submitted  is  indicated  in  the  ac- 
companying scenario  of  "For  Husbands  Only,"  in  pages  one  to  eleven,  inclusive. 
Never,  under  any  circumstances,  submit  continuity.  The  purpose  of  a  scenario  is  to 
convey  a  screen  story  from  the  brain  of  the  author  to  the  brain  of  the  editor  or  pro- 
ducer who  is  to  consider  it — from  the  creative  to  the  receptive  brain. 

CAST   OF   CHARACTERS. 

2.  The  cast  of  characters  is  an  itemized  list  of  the  fictitious  persons  who  appear 
in  the  story.  When  a  scenario  finally  goes  to  the  director  who  is  to  put  it  into  pro- 
duction, a  parallel  list  of  the  actors  to  whom  are  assigned  the  duties  of  playing  the 
individual  parts  is  added.  The  length  of  this  list  naturally  depends  upon  the  number 
of  characters  appearing  in  the  story.  Every  story  is  centered  around  one  person  who 
is  more  important  than  the  others  in  the  development  of  the  plot.  This  name  should 
appear  first  and  the  others  should  follow  in  the  order  of  their  importance.  E.xamine 
the  casts  of  characters  included  in  the  two  scenarios  "For  Husbands  Only"  and 
"Speed  and  Suspicion."  In  the  former,  Toni  Wilde  is  the  foremost  character,  and 
Clinton  Syx  and  Borrow  A.  Ryde  have  the  leading  parts  in  the  latter;  hence  their 
appearance  at  the  top  of  the  list  in  each  case.  In  submitting  a  story  it  is  well  to  make 
the  cast  of  characters  as  explanatory  as  possible,  for  this  will  aid  in  setting  forth  your 
story  clearly  to  the  editor  who  reads  it. 

3.  The  two  scenarios  that  are  given  herewith  for  your  study  contain  casts  of 
characters  which  exemplify  the  use  of  such  explanatory  matter.  In  reading  the  cast 
of  characters  of  "For  Husbands  Only,"  we  are  prepared  for  the  story  that  follows. 
We  know  that  Toni  Wilde  is  a  young  girl  just  coming  out  in  society  and  who  pos- 
sesses a  lack  of  worldly  knowledge  through  being  brought  up  in  a  convent.  We  are 
told  that  Rolin  Van  D'Arcy  is  "a  bachelor  whose  sins  are  forgiven  because  of  his 
money,"  which  is  quite  as  expressive  as  a  long  chapter  of  description  might  be. 

Samuel  Dodge  makes  his  initial  bow  to  us  as  "a  wonder  in  the  business  world, 
but  a  misfit  in  society."  Thus,  before  the  photoplay  itself  comes  before  us  we  know 
that  Toni  is  our  heroine,  Van  D'Arcy  our  "villain,"  and  Samuel  Dodge  our  hero. 
We  are  briefly  prepared  for  what  follows  with  the  information  that  Mrs.  Dalton  is 
a  discarded  flame  of  Van  D'Arcy.  A  cast  may  be  more  elaborately  explanatory  than 
this  if  the  author  so  desires,  for  it  is  intended  for  the  convenience  of  the  editor  who 
reads  the  story,  and  is,  in  a  measure,  a  part  of  the  synopsis,  inasmuch  as  it  helps  to 
tell  the  story  quickly. 

93 


4.  The  cast  as  it  appears  upon  the  screen  is  arranged  according  to  the  ideas 
and  policy  of  the  producing  company.  Some  use  elaborately  explanatory  casts,  while 
others  present  them  in  the  very  briefest  manner  possible.  This  screen  form  of  cast 
is  a  matter  that  need  not  concern  the  author. 

There  is  a  psychology  in  names  that  is  worthy  of  study.  Dickens  was  a  master 
in  making  names  fit  the  personality.  With  no  further  introduction  he  was  frequently 
able  to  establish  like  or  dislike  for  a  character.  This  may  be  exaggerated  to  a  broader 
use  in  comedy  than  in  drama,  but  applies  in  certain  degrees  to  both. 

5.  William  Archer's  advice  in  this  respect  is  worth  quoting:  "Characteristic 
without  eccentricity — that  is  what  a  name  ought  to  be.  As  the  characteristic  quality 
depends  upon  a  hundred  indefinable  subconscious  associations,  it  is  clearly  impossi- 
ble to  suggest  any  principle  of  choice.  The  only  general  rule  that  can  be  laid  down 
is  that  the  key  of  the  nomenclature,  so  to  speak,  may  rightly  varj'  with  the  key  of  the 
play — that  farcical  names  are,  within  limit,  admissible  in  part;  eccentric  names  in 
eccentric  comedy,  while  soberly  appropriate  names  are  alone  in  place  in  serious  plays." 

6.  In  "Speed  and  Suspicion,"  the  names  of  Clinton  Syx  and  Borrow  A.  Ryde 
are  examples  of  the  exaggerated  use  of  suggested  names.  In  drama  the  names  must  be 
kept  well  within  the  limits  of  possibility  or  their  use  will  appear  forced.  A  carefully 
prepared  and  orderly  arranged  cast  of  characters  is  an  important  part  of  a  scenario. 

BRIEF  SYNOPSIS. 

Next  comes  the  brief  synopsis,  which  tells  the  story  with  the  utmost  economy  of 
words.  In  a  single  sentence,  if  possible,  and  embracing  the  mere  skeleton  of  the  struc- 
ture, one  might  reduce  the  story  of  the  "Whispering  Chorus,"  a  photoplay  sensation 
of  a  short  time  ago,  to  the  terseness  of  "The  story  of  a  man  who  was  tried  and  exe- 
cuted for  his  own  murder."  This  conveys  the  big  thought  in  a  single  sentence  which 
may  be  absorbed  at  a  glance.  In  "For  Husbands  Only,"  the  brief  synopsis  occupies 
a  few  lines  more  than  a  single  page,  and  in  "Speed  and  Suspicion"  less  than  a  page 
is  devoted  to  this  portion  of  the  manuscript. 

The  brief  synopsis  tells  in  a  few  words  the  theme  and  general  atmosphere  of  the 
story.  From  its  quick  perusal  an  editor  or  director  may  decide  whether  or  not  it  is 
worth  his  time  to  read  the  detailed  synopsis.  For  instance,  if  the  brief  synopsis  indi- 
cates that  the  story  deals  with  war  as  a  general  theme,  and  if  the  studio  to  which  it  is 
submitted  is  not  in  the  market  for  war  stories,  the  editor  is  enabled  to  eliminate  the 
manuscript  after  a  moment's  glance  and  is  saved  the  effort  of  wading  through  a 
lengthy  detailed  synopsis. 

Or  if  the  editor  is  searching  for  a  good  story  dealing  with  desirable  social  prob- 
lems, and  after  a  glance  at  the  brief  synopsis,  is  aware  that  he  has  a  manuscript  dealing 
with  such  a  subject,  he  is  immediately  interested  and  gives  painstaking  attention  to  the 
detailed  synopsis.  Thus  it  will  be  realized  that  it  is  well  to  spend  considerable  time 
and  effort  in  the  preparation  of  a  brief  synopsis  in  order  that  it  may  bring  out  the 
biggest  point  or  points  of  your  story,  and  thus  attract  the  editor's  attention  and  com- 
pel his  careful  reading  of  the  detailed  synopsis. 

DIRECT  DETAILED  SYNOPSIS. 

7.  The  cast  of  characters  shows  at  a  glance  the  number  and  kind  of  characters 
involved  in  a  story,  while  the  brief  synopsis  tells  the  nature  of  the  plot  in  a  few  words, 
and  thus  the  person  who  is  considering  the  purchase  of  manuscript  is  prepared  for  the 
detailed  synopsis  that  follows.  In  preparing  the  direct  detailed  synopsis,  your  pur- 
pose is  to  tell  your  storj'  in  detail  in  direct  narrative  form,  unadorned  with  useless 

94 


description.  This  is,  of  course,  the  most  vitally  important  part  of  the  submitted 
scenario.  The  cast  of  characters  and  brief  synopsis  are  merely  steps  that  lead  to  this 
complete  telling  of  the  story. 

It  is  impossible  to  set  any  definite  limit  to  the  number  of  words  or  pages  con- 
tained in  a  direct  detailed  synopsis.  The  best  advice  that  may  be  given  is  to  tell  your 
story  clearly  and  completely,  and  as  briefly  as  is  consistent  with  a  clear  and  complete 
narration  of  the  important  events  from  the  opening  of  the  story  directly  through  to 
the  climax  and  the  closing. 

8.  In  preparing  your  direct  detailed  synopsis  as  it  is  to  be  mailed  to  an  editor,  be 
sure  that  it  tells  your  whole  story  completely,  but  tell  it  in  as  few  words  and  in  as 
simple  language  as  possible.  Let  it  be  a  terse,  clean-cut  description  of  the  action  of 
your  story.  Do  not  indulge  in  puns  or  word-play  to  indicate  to  the  editor  the  extent  of 
your  cleverness.  He  is  not  interested  in  you — all  he  cares  for  is  a  comprehensive 
knowledge  of  your  story  and  he  wants  to  gain  that  knowledge  in  the  shortest  possible 
space  of  time.  But  in  eliminating  useless  words  and  burdensome  language,  do  not 
omit  any  important  portion  of  your  story. 

Do  not  say  "Charlie  goes  into  a  bakery  and  meets  with  many  amusing  adven- 
tures." Tell  what  the  many  amusing  adventures  are.  Do  not  merely  record  that 
"Wallace  started  home  and  finally  arrived,  worn  and  weary,  after  having  risked  his 
life  in  the  defense  of  the  treasure  that  he  carried."  Tell  how  he  risked  his  life.  Do 
not  leave  part  of  your  story  for  someone  else  to  write.  Tell  it  all,  but  be  brief  in  the 
telling.  Give  all  the  details,  but  tell  them  in  the  fewest  number  of  words,  and  while 
literary  ability  is  of  no  value  to  you  in  the  telling  except  as  it  teaches  you  to  say  much 
with  brevity,  at  least  try  to  be  correct  in  your  spelling  and  reasonably  grammatical. 
Poor  spelling  and  defective  grammar  antagonize  the  sensibilities  of  an  editor. 
He  is  human  and  he  is  intensely  busy.  Therefore,  present  your  wares  in  the  most 
attractive  and  in  the  least  annoying  manner  possible.  A  good  synopsis  will  not  sell 
a  poor  story,  but  a  poor  synopsis  has  prevented  the  sale  of  many  a  good  story. 

9.  In  "For  Husbands  Only,"  a  little  more  than  six  full  typewritten  pages  are 
occupied  by  the  detailed  synopsis.  In  some  cases  a  story  of  this  length  may  be  told 
in  four  or  five  pages,  and  in  others  it  may  be  necessary  to  expand  this  to  twelve  or 
fifteen  or  even  more.  Avoid  repetition,  and  never,  under  any  circumstances,  indulge 
in  useless  description,  but  on  the  other  hand,  never  omit  anything  that  is  in  any  way 
important  to  the  progress  of  your  story.  Start  at  the  beginning  and  follow  the  events 
of  your  story  consecutively  and  in  the  order  of  their  occurrence  until  you  have  reached 
the  end.    Tell  what  your  characters  do. 

Remember  that  you  are  dealing  with  action  and  not  with  the  artistic  use  of 
words.  Be  concise,  but  be  complete.  The  detailed  synopsis  of  "For  Husbands  Only" 
is  an  admirable  example  of  a  story  briefly  and  completely  told.  It  is  a  six-reel  story, 
and  a  little  more  than  six  pages  are  used.  It  will  be  noticed  that  the  entire  narrative 
is  composed  of  action.  "Van  joins  Toni  and  her  mother"— "Samuel  runs  to  his 
dressing-room"— "Mrs.  Dalton  arrives  at  Van's  house"— etc.,  etc.  If  we  \yerc  to 
put  this  synopsis  into  the  form  of  a  magazine  story  we  might  embellish  it  with 
description,  dialogue,  and  philosophy,  and  thus  extend  it  to  the  length  of  a  novelette. 
A  photoplay  synopsis,  however,  must  be  stripped  of  everything  but  a  consecutive 
record  of  action!  It  is  what  our  chamct-rs  DO  that  counts,  and  lengthy  descriptions, 
beautiful  word  pictures,  and  philosophical  deductions  mean  nothing.  Of  course  there 
must  be  some  description  of  tlie  surroundings  in  which  the  characters  live.  It  was 
necessary  in  "For  Husbands  Only"  to  tell  of  the  artistic  luxuries  of  Van's  home  for 

9S 


instance,  for  this  had  a  direct  bearing  upon  the  characterization  of  the  sinful  sensual- 
ist. Such  description  may  be  brief  and  yet  complete,  whereas  in  a  novel  or  short 
story  it  might  be  drawn  out  to  considerable  length. 

10.  The  direct  detailed  synopsis  of  "Gates  of  Brass"  is  somewhat  more  explicit 
in  its  character  explanation  for  the  reason  that  it  is  a  subject  which  deals  with  more 
elaborate  characterizations  than  "For  Husbands  Only."  Several  sub-titles  are  con- 
tained in  this  synopsis,  and  this  is  quite  permissible  as  in  some  cases  greater  brevity 
may  be  obtained  through  the  use  of  a  sub-title  than  otherwise.  Frequently  an  author 
may  have  an  excellent  idea  of  a  sub-title  which  it  is  desirable  to  include  in  the  direct 
detailed  synopsis,  so  that  the  company  purchasing  the  story  may  use  this  as  it  stands 
or  as  a  basis  upon  which  to  construct  a  similar  title. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  include  many  such  titles  in  a  synopsis,  however,  and  never 
unless  they  serve  a  really  valuable  purpose.  In  the  making  of  a  photoplay,  many 
little  details  of  action  are  altered,  discarded,  or  injected  by  the  director,  hence  the 
final  sub-titles  are  usually  written  after  a  picture  is  completed  and  has  been  viewed 
by  the  director  and  continuity  staff  in  the  studio. 

11.  Summing  up  the  preparation  of  the  manuscript  as  it  is  to  be  submitted  for 
sale,  we  have  first — a  well-chosen  main-title;  second — a  complete  explanatory  cast  of 
characters;  third — a  brief  synopsis,  giving  a  concise  idea  of  the  theme  and  high  spots 
of  the  story ;  and  fourth — a  direct  detailed  synopsis,  telling  the  entire  story  from  start 
to  finish  just  as  it  will  appear  upon  the  screen — consecutively,  clearly,  and  with  all 
reasonable  brevity. 

MAIN-TITLE. 

12.  The  main-title  is  the  name  of  the  story.  "For  Husbands  Only,"  "Gates 
of  Brass,"  and  "Speed  and  Suspicion,"  are  the  main-titles  of  the  three  accompanying 
scenarios.  The  main-title  has  much  to  do  with  the  success  of  many  pictures.  It  is 
the  name  of  the  star  who  is  featured,  the  name  of  the  author,  and  the  main-title  that 
are  the  three  important  units  in  the  advertising  which  helps  to  popularize  a  photo- 
play. The  star's  name  predominates  if  he  or  she  is  particularly  well  known,  while 
in  other  cases  the  author's  name  is  of  superior  value,  but  the  main-title  is  of 
great  importance  regardless  of  either  of  these — which  is  another  way  of  saying  that  it 
must  be  a  means  of  attracting  persons  to  the  box-office — for  it  is  the  money  spent  by 
patrons  for  admission  tickets  that  supports  this  giant  industry. 

13.  What  are  the  elements  of  box-office  value?  First,  brevity.  One,  two,  and 
three-word  titles  are  the  best.  "Intolerance,"  "Eve's  Daughter,"  "The  Crucible," 
"The  Fair  Barbarian,"  "The  Family  Skeleton,"  "For  Husbands  Only,"  "Gates  of 
Brass,"  "Speed  and  Suspicion,"  "The  Miracle  Man,"  and  "Broken  Blossoms"  are 
excellent  examples.  The  main-title  must  be  appropriate,  having  a  bearing  on  the  story, 
but  it  must  not  tell  the  story  even  through  suggestion.     It  must  not  reveal  the  climax. 

14.  Consider  "For  Husbands  Only."  We  are  interested  in  knowing  why  the 
story  is  "for  husbands  only."  At  first  glance  one  might  dravi'  the  conclusion  that 
only  husbands  are  to  be  admitted  to  view  the  picture.  This  main-title  caused  much 
comment  and  discussion  when  the  picture  was  first  shown.  "Gates  of  Brass"  was 
derived  from  the  quotation,  "For  he  hath  broken  the  gates  of  brass  and  cut  the  bars 
of  iron  asunder."  "Speed  and  Suspicion"  is  a  light  comedy  title  of  no  unusual  value 
except  that  it  is  alliterative  and  euphonious.  The  most  desirable  main-title  is  one 
which  arouses  curiosity  that  only  a  visit  to  the  theatre  will  satisfy,  and  it  must  be  brief 
so  that  it  may  be  used  in  big  type  in  newspaper,  electric  sign,  or  bill-board  advertising. 

96 


15.  Avoid  the  use  of  the  hero's  or  heroine's  name,  such  as  is  frequently  used  in 
the  titling  of  novels.  Oliver  Twist,  Adam  Bede,  Huckleberry  Finn,  and  similar 
main-titles  would  arouse  no  more  interest  in  the  mind  of  the  casual  observer  than  John 
Smith  or  Bill  Jones.  Of  course,  in  the  adaptation  of  a  book  to  the  screen,  the  original 
title  is  frequently  used,  but  original  photoplays  are  given  names  of  advertising  and 
selling  value. 

16.  Shun  trite,  obvious  and  shop-worn  titles,  such  as  "Cupid's  Dart,"  "Murder 
Will  Out,"  "Honesty  Is  the  Be>t  Policy,"  "A  Peck  of  Trouble,"  or  "The  Wages  of 
Sin."  Be  original!  Think  for  yourself!  Examine  the  titles  of  pictures  that  are 
being  shown  currently;  analyze  their  values  and  find  the  probable  reasons  for  being 
chosen. 

17.  After  a  picture  is  completed  the  main-title  is  frequently  changed,  but  even 
if  yours  never  appears  on  the  screen  it  may  have  some  influence  in  selling  your  story. 
If  it  is  a  good  title  it  will  attract  the  editor,  while  if  it  is  a  poor  title  it  will  repel  him. 
Perhaps  this  feeling  may  only  be  sub-conscious  on  his  part,  but  it  will  affect  him, 
nevertheless.  Do  not  overlook  or  neglect  so  much  as  the  smallest  item  of  strength  or 
weakness  in  the  presentation  of  your  story.  As  an  author  your  business  is  to  write 
and  sell  stories.  Go  about  this  business  with  a  care  for  detail.  The  one  weakness 
that  you  thoughtlessly  or  lazily  allow  to  creep  into  your  manuscript  may  be  the  sin- 
gle cause  of  its  rejection. 

Do  not  hurriedly  choose  any  main-title  that  springs  to  your  mind,  in  your  haste 
to  mail  your  finished  storj'.  A  good  title  may  be  the  means  of  catching  the  approving 
eye  of  a  tired,  busy  editor  and  cause  him  to  read  your  story  with  added  interest  and  in 
a  more  receptive  mood.  A  weak  title  may  contain  an  irritating  element  that  will 
cause  him  to  throw  your  story  aside  with  scarcely  a  second  glance.  The  most  capable 
editor  is  still  human — and  must  be  approached  with  the  same  care  and  preparation 
that  a  good  salesman  uses  in  stalking  a  wary,  nervous,  impressionable  prospect. 

You  are  competing  with  other  writers — the  mail  of  every  editor  contains  manu- 
scripts. Some  are  bad,  some  are  good.  The  editor  is  rushed — his  duties  are  many  and 
arduous.  His  staff  of  readers  face  the  same  conditions.  You  have  a  story  for  sale — 
the  editor  is  a  possible  buyer.  Do  you  not  see  the  necessity  of  taking  advantage  of 
every  possible  factor  that  will  have  a  tendency  to  increase  the  certainty  of  that  sale? 
This  applies,  not  only  to  the  main-title  or  the  synopsis,  or  to  any  one  element  or 
department,  but  to  every  separate  word  and  portion  of  your  manuscript  from  every 
possible  viewpoint.  Never  be  satisfied  until  your  completed  manuscript  is  just  as 
nearly  perfect  as  you  know  how  to  make  it.  If  you  are  possessed  of  real  creative 
faculty  and  abide  by  this  rule  you  will  eventually  win  just  as  surely  as  you  live  and 
breathe/ 

CONTINUITY. 

18.  The  continuity  is  the  uninterrupted  connection  or  the  succession  of  scenes 
described  in  minute  detail  as  they  are  to  be  acted  by  the  players,  together  with  the  sub- 
titles and  inserts  that  are  used  to  elaborate  or  explain  action  that  is  obscure  or  incom- 
plete. The  continuity  of  "For  Husbands  Only"  starts  with  page  twelve  of  the  manu- 
script and  is  a  practically  perfect  example  of  continuity  construction.  While  every 
reasonable  effort  should  be  made  to  maintain  brevity  in  a  detailed  synopsis,  the  con- 
tinuity must  contain  every  minute,  explanatory  detail,  for  it  is  the  whole  story  given 

97 


in  its  absolutely  complete  form  from  start  to  finish,  divided  into  separate  scenes  and 
laid  out  in  description  of  action  and  location  just  as  it  is  to  appear  in  the  completed 
film. 

Continuity  is  usually  written  in  the  present  tense  and  in  terms  expressing 
action,  and  while  it  must  be  minutely  complete,  all  superfluous  words  and  phrases  are 
eliminated  the  same  as  in  the  synopsis.  The  continuity  is  a  terse,  though  complete  and 
business-like  set  of  instructions  to  be  followed  by  directors.  The  amount  of  liberty 
that  he  is  allowed  to  take  with  these  instructions  is  governed  by  his  ability  and  origi- 
nality, and  the  latitude  that  he  is  allowed  in  the  use  of  such  originality.  Some  pro- 
ducing companies  insist  that  their  directors  follow  the  continuity  to  the  letter,  while 
others  hand  it  to  the  director  merely  as  a  general  guide,  expecting  him  to  inject  his  own 
ideas  and  make  whatever  alterations  he  chooses. 

A  study  of  continuity  and  a  definite  knowledge  of  continuity  construction  is 
exceedingly  useful  to  the  free  lance  writer,  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  under  no 
circumstances  is  continuity  to  be  submitted  as  a  part  of  the  manuscript  offered  for  sale. 
No  matter  how  great  the  ability  may  be,  it  is  impossible  for  a  writer  not  employed  in 
a  studio  to  write  acceptable  continuity.  The  reason  for  this  is  that  every  studio  has 
its  own  methods  of  continuity  construction,  and  even  two  directors  in  the  same  studio 
work  along  different  lines.  To  be  familiar  with  such  methods  a  writer  must  be  in 
intimate  daily  touch  with  the  activities  of  the  studio  that  is  to  produce  his  story. 

The  writing  of  continuity  is  an  art  in  itself  and  is  invariably  done  by  writers 
who  devote  their  entire  time  to  such  work.  Be  content,  therefore,  to  protect  yourself 
in  plot  construction  until  you  are  proficient  enough  to  sell  synopses  of  your  stories. 
Be  satisfied  with  a  general  knowledge  of  continuity  writing.  Such  knowledge  is  es- 
sential and  will  prevent  you  from  running  wild  in  your  synopses,  but  a  closer  study 
would  only  be  confusing  to  the  beginner  and  of  no  practical  use.  Let  me  fully  explain 
the  reasons  for  this  condition. 

19.  Some  studios  work  along  lines  of  strict  economy,  while  others  spare  no  ex- 
pense in  the  making  of  a  story.  Let  us  suppose  that  two  studios  were  to  produce  the 
same  story  at  the  same  time.  One  would  eliminate  even,'  possible  set  which  would 
be  likely  to  run  into  expense  and  would  do  away  with  just  as  many  characters  as 
possible  in  order  to  economize  in  salaries.  The  other  would  allow  the  director  to  use 
just  as  many  and  just  as  expensive  sets  as  he  might  desire,  and  would  place  no  limit 
upon  the  number  of  actors  employed.  Thus  continuity  prepared  for  one  studio  would 
be  utterly  worthless  to  the  other.  Each  continuity  might  be  mechanically  perfect  in 
its  details,  yet  each  would  be  based  upon  a  policy  quite  foreign  to  that  of  the  other 
studio.  A  staff  continuity  writer,  leaving  the  employment  of  one  company  and  going 
to  another,  has  to  readjust  his  methods. 

20.  Careful  study  of  the  chapters  dealing  with  the  analysis  of  the  continuity  of 
"For  Husbands  Only"  and  "Speed  and  Suspicion"  will  give  a  comprehensive  idea  of 
continuity  values.  In  addition  to  this,  let  us  examine  the  various  devices  of  continuity 
construction. 

SUB-TITLES. 

21.  A  sub-title  consists  of  the  words,  phrases,  or  sentences  that  appear  inter- 
spersed at  irregular  intervals  throughout  the  action  of  the  photoplay.  Sub-titles  may 
be  divided  into  two  general  classes — spoken  titles  and  descriptive  or  explanatory  titles. 
A  spoken  title  almost  invariably  appears  in  the  midst  of  a  scene  in  which  a  character  is 
seen  to  speak.  As  an  illustration,  turn  to  scene  52  in  the  continuity  of  "For  Husbands 
Only."  Van  places  his  arm  around  Toni  and  we  see  his  lips  move  and  then  we  read 
the  sub-title,  "You  are  an  inspiration,  Toni,"  after  which  the  scene  continues  as  be- 
fore. Van's  lips  continuing  to  move  as  he  finishes  speaking. 

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In  some  cases,  however,  a  spoken  sub-title  appears  between  two  different  scenes. 
Turn  to  scenes  302  and  303  in  "For  Husbands  Only."  We  have  a  close-up  of  Van 
and  see  his  lips  start  to  move,  after  which  we  read  what  he  sa3's — "I  kept  our  destina- 
tion from  you  so  that  you  could  not  invite  friend-husband  or  mother  to  step  in  and 
spoil  the  party."  Then  we  return  to  the  action  and  we  see  his  lips  continue  to  move 
as  he  explains  to  Toni  that  he  realizes  all  of  her  former  trickery,  but  the  scene  is  shot 
from  a  slightly  different  angle,  thus  placing  the  spoken  title  between  two  separate 
scenes  instead  of  in  the  midst  of  one.    Such  use  of  a  spoken  title  is  infrequent. 

DESCRIPTIVE  AND   EXPLANATORY  TITLES. 

A  descriptive  or  explanatory  title  is  used  to  introduce  a  character,  to  explain 
action  briefly  that  would  otherwise  require  long,  tedious  and  circuitous  action, 
to  explain  action  that  is  not  suflSciently  clear  in  itself  or  to  cover  an  elapse  of  time. 
Sub-titles  2,  3,  and  4,  in  "For  Husbands  Only,"  are  introductory  titles,  which  make 
us  acquainted  with  the  three  principal  characters  and  give  us  a  condensed  insight  into 
their  personal  peculiarities.  Sub-title  6  is  an  explanatory  title  which  tells  us  Samuel's 
motive  for  avoiding  the  other  guests.  Sub-title  7  serves  a  similar  purpose.  Sub-titles 
15  and  16  tell  us  Toni's  attitude  toward  Van  more  clearly  than  could  be  told  in 
action.  Sub-title  25  covers  an  elapse  of  time  which  appears  between  the  first  and 
second  sequences  of  the  story. 

Whatever  action  occurs  in  the  lives  of  our  characters  during  this  interval  has 
no  direct  bearing  upon  the  central  theme  of  the  story  and  would  be  tiresome  and 
quite  unnecessary.  In  addition  to  this  sub-title  we  have  two  newspaper  inserts 
which  give  us  further  information  as  to  what  has  been  transpiring  during  the 
interim.  All  of  this  might  have  been  told  in  a  long  and  awkward  explanatory  sub- 
title, but  to  avoid  this  we  have  the  eleven  word  title  and  then  we  are  permitted  to 
read  the  newspaper  insert  which  contains  a  picture  of  Mrs.  Dalton  and  a  headline 
which  tells  us  briefly  but  completely  the  outcome  of  the  "affair"  between  Mrs. 
Dalton  and  Van.  Then  we  see  Van  reading  the  newspaper,  and  as  his  eyes  wander 
to  another  column  we  have  a  second  newspaper  insert.  This  is  a  far  more  interesting 
presentation  of  all  this  information  than  would  be  one  long  explanatory  title.  Sub- 
title 55  explains  to  us  the  thoughts  that  rushed  to  Toni's  mind  when  the  maid 
announces  Van's  presence  in  scene  372. 

22.  Sub-title  number  3  in  "Speed  and  Suspicion"  serves  to  introduce  the 
motorcycle  policeman.  There  is  nothing  of  any  importance  to  tell  about  him  except 
that  he  is  a  "speed  officer,"  and  to  merely  set  down  "a  motorcycle  policeman" 
would  be  very  flat  and  trite — therefore  he  is  introduced  as  "A  Bloodhound  of  the 
Boulevards,"  which  adds  a  little  touch  of  brightness.  In  scene  17  of  "Speed  and 
Suspicion"  we  have  a  bit  of  dialogue  which  requires  three  brief  spoken  titles.  The 
introduction  of  more  than  one  title  in  a  scene  is  to  be  avoided  if  possible,  but  in  this 
case  it  was  necessary  to  impress  upon  the  audience  that  Clinton  was  in  danger  of 
a  thirty-day  jail  sentence  in  order  to  emphasize  his  motive  for  going  to  extremes 
in  attempting  to  avoid  arrest.  Sub-title  9  in  "Speed  and  Suspicion"  serves  as  two 
spoken  sub-titles  in  one.  Borrow  whispers  "It's  a  Boy"  and  then  the  officer  repeats 
it  and  says  "A  Boy,  eh!  Congratulations."  It  is  unnecessary  to  show  in  a  sub-title 
what  Borrow  says  because  the  officer  repeating  it  immediately  after  him  plainly 
indicates  to  the  audience  what  Sorrow's  words  have  been. 

23.  In  scene  318  of  "For  Husbands  Only"  Toni  speaks  and  yet  there  is  no 
sub-title.  She  says,  "Well"  indifferently,  and  her  enunciation  was  so  perfect  that 
the  movement  of  her  lips  told  quite  plainly  what  was  spoken.     Therefore,  a  spoken 

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title  would  have  been  superfluous.  This  could  not  be  determined  until  after  the 
scene  had  been  photographed,  and  is  an  illustration  of  how  the  final  arrangement 
of  continuity  must  be  done  in  the  studio. 

THE  INSERT. 

24.  An  insert  is  any  still  matter,  other  than  a  sub-title,  inserted  in  a  film, 
such  as  the  reproduction  of  letters,  newspapers,  telegrams,  bottle  labels,  small  objects, 
etc.  An  insert  might  be  called  a  large  close-up  of  an  inanimate  object.  The  two 
newspaper  inserts  numbered  170  and  172  in  "For  Husbands  Only,"  and  the  insert 
of  Toni's  note  numbered  219,  are  examples.  We  sometimes  see  a  character  take 
a  bottle  from  a  shelf  or  drawer,  and,  to  explain  to  the  audience  what  the  bottle 
contains,  we  use  an  insert  of  the  label,  which  may  bear  the  inscription  "Poison," 
"Vinegar,"  or  whatever  is  necessary  to  designate  the  contents.  This  requires  only 
a  short  space  of  film  and  is  a  quicker  way  of  conveying  the  information  than  to 
use  an  explanatory  sub-title. 

A  sub-title  or  insert  should  never  be  used  unless  it  is  absolutely  necessary.  Do 
not  tell  something  in  a  sub-title  and  then  repeat  it  in  action.  Never  use  a  sub-title  if 
what  it  tells  can  be  told  in  action.  This  is  productive  of  mere  repetition,  and  the 
use  of  unnecessary  sub-titles  serves  only  to  interrupt  the  action  and  thus  mar  the 
smooth  flow  of  the  story. 

THE    CLOSE-UP. 

25.  A  "close-up"  is  a  scene  photographed  with  the  camera  close  up  to  the 
object  or  action  being  photographed.  It  is,  in  a  strict  sense,  a  close  view  of  such 
object  or  action,  but  in  the  vernacular  of  the  studios  the  term  "close-up"  has  become, 
through  common  usage,  to  be  generally  accepted.  Originally,  this  device  was  used 
to  obtain  a  large  view  of  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  character,  and  was  called  a 
"bust."  This  term  will  occasionally  be  found  in  the  writings  of  some  out-of-date 
author,  or  in  the  varied  form  of  "bust  close-up."  Modern  usage  applies  "close-up" 
to  any  close  view,  be  it  head  or  face  of  a  character;  a  hand  or  foot  or  any  portion 
of  the  body;  or  of  any  subject  that  is  in  action. 

26.  The  use  of  the  close-up  is  quite  as  obvious  as  its  name — to  show  a  close, 
detailed  view  of  that  which  is  not  sufficiently  clear  or  which  lacks  emphasis  in  a 
more  distant  and  general  scene.  In  the  case  of  a  human  face,  it  is  occasionally 
necessary  or  desirous  to  show  the  details  of  expression,  conveying  an  emotion — 
grief,  joy,  expectation,  tears,  the  tense  biting  of  the  lips,  eyes  and  mouth  open  in 
wonder  or  admiration,  the  eyes  narrow  and  the  lips  pressed  tight  in  anger  or  deter- 
mination— a  thousand  and  one  variations  of  expression  that  would  be  lost  were  the 
camera  not  close. 

In  other  cases  it  may  be  desirable  to  show  a  hand  stealthily  reaching  into  a 
drawer  to  draw  out  a  document,  or  a  dagger,  or  a  pistol,  an  action  that  would 
pass  unnoticed  in  a  "long-shot,"  which  is  the  usual  term  for  a  full  view  of  a  scene. 
In  such  a  scene  we  first  see  the  "long-shot"  during  which  the  character  starts  to 
reach  for  a  particular  object,  then  the  close-up  showing  plainly  what  he  is  doing, 
then  back  to  the  long-shot,  continuing  the  action  as  before.  Or  there  may  be  several 
close-ups  in  succession. 

27.  In  some  instances,  such  as  scenes  2,  3,  and  4  at  the  opening  of  "For 
Husbands  Only,"  there  may  be  several  close-ups  in  succession.  We  have  another 
example  of  this  in  scenes  9,  10,  11,  and  12.  Cutting  from  one  close-up  to  another 
in  this  fashion  gives  us  a  direct  idea  of  what  is  happening  without  including  any 
extraneous  action  or  diverting  our  attention  to  unnceessary  and  unimportant  char- 
acters. A  full  and  complete  study  of  this  continuity  will  show  a  number  of  excellent 
illustrations  of  the  use  of  the  close-up. 

100 


28.  Occasionally  the  close-up  is  used  to  "break  up"  a  sequence  that  would  be 
too  long  and  monotonous  were  the  action  therein  contained  shown  in  one  lengthy  and 
sustained  long-shot.  This  is  illustrated  throughout  the  opening  of  the  action  of 
"For  Husbands  Only."  It  would  be  quite  tiresome  to  witness  all  of  the  action 
that  is  contained  in  these  close-ups  if  it  were  to  appear  in  one  sustained  long-shot. 
Jumping  from  one  close-up  to  another  serves  better  to  hold  our  attention.  The 
use  of  the  close-up  may  be  overdone,  but  that  is  largely  a  concern  of  the  continuity 
writer  and  need  not  enter  too  much  into  the  consideration  of  the  author  who  is 
submitting  a  scenario  in  synopsis  form.  Too  many  close-ups  are  quite  as  undesirable 
as  too  many  sub-titles — both  may  be  scattered  through  a  script  too  frequently  and 
with  no  sufficient  reason,  if  a  writer  allows  them  to  run  away  with  his  good 
judgment. 

THE   SEMI-CLOSE-UP. 

29.  The  "semi-close-up"  is  exactly  what  its  name  implies — a  scene  that,  in 
point  of  proximity  of  the  camera  to  the  object,  is  half-way  between  a  long-shot  and 
a  close-up.  It  is  a  "medium  close  view."  This  is  sometimes  used  to  include  two 
or  more  people  where  a  close-up  would  not  include  them  to  advantage ;  it  also  used 
in  any  scene  where  a  really  close  view  is  not  necessary,  and  yet  where  a  long-shot 
does  not  show  sufficient  detail  of  action.  Where  there  is  any  doubt,  modern 
methods  take  the  camera  as  close  to  the  action  as  possible.  A  few  years  ago  it  was 
thought  necessary  to  include  the  full  figures  in  every  scene — now  the  camera  is 
moved  close  to  the  scene,  even  though  figures  are  frequently  cut  off  at  the  ankles, 
knees  or  waist.  All  unimportant  and  superficial  parts  of  a  scene  are  eliminated 
to  a  great  extent,  unless  it  is  desirable  to  obtain  mere  photographic  beauty  here  and 
there  throughout  a  story,  and  even  in  such  cases  the  artistic  uses  of  light  and  shadow 
may  frequently  be  obtained  in  a  close-up,  or  semi-close-up,  quite  as  eflfectively  as 
in  a  long-shot  where  the  scene  may  be  beautiful  but  the  action  vague. 

THE   FADE  AND  IRIS. 

30.  At  the  opening  of  a  picture  the  first  scene  usually  "fades  in" — we  see  the 
dark  screen,  and  then  the  scene  appears  as  though  we  were  opening  our  closed  eyes 
upon  it.  "Fade  in"  or  "Iris  in"  are  the  synonymous  terms  used  in  the  scenario  to 
designate  this  effect.  In  truth,  it  is  the  eye  of  the  camera  opening  on  the  scene 
that  gives  rise  to  the  use  of  the  term  "Iris  in."  The  iris  diaphragm  is  an  adjustable 
device  for  regulating  the  aperture  of  the  lens,  and  derives  its  name  from  the  imitation, 
in  its  action,  of  the  iris  of  the  eye. 

31.  To  obtain  a  crude  illustration  of  the  iris,  hold  the  tips  of  the  fingers  of 
one  hand  close  together  and  bend  them  forward  to  meet  the  tip  of  the  thumb. 
With  the  hand  held  a  few  inches  from  the  eye,  the  other  eye  being  closed,  look 
through  the  circle  formed  by  the  curved  fingers  and  thumb — then  slowly  draw  the 
finger  tips  down  the  inside  of  the  thumb,  closing  the  fist  and  gradually  narrowing 
the  circle  until  the  fist  is  tightly  closed.  This  crudely  illustrates  the  "iris  out"  or 
"fade  out"  action  of  the  diaphragm  as  it  closes  over  the  lens.  Reverse  this,  opening 
the  fist,  and  you  have  the  "fade  in"  or  "iris  in"  action  of  the  diaphragm.  At  the 
close  of  the  film,  the  final  scene  fades  out,  slowly  vanishing  as  the  eye  of  the  camera 
closes  on  it,  reversing  the  process  of  "fading  in."  The  term  fade-in,  rather  than 
iris-in,  is  usually  used  in  this  sense. 

32.  When,  during  the  action  of  a  picture,  we  reach  the  end  of  a  sequence 
of  scenes  and  jump  over  a  lapse  of  time  to  the  opening  of  another  sequence,  we 
fade  out  of  the  last  scene  of  the  first  sequence  and  fade  in  on  the  first  scene  of  the 
new  sequence.  Usually  a  sub-title  accompanies  this  use  of  the  fade-out  and  fade-in. 
We  find  an  example  of  this  in  scenes   169  and   170,  where  sub-title  25  follows  the 

101 


fade-out  that  starts  to  bridge  the  elapse  of  time.  In  scene  101  we  have  a  fade- 
out  which  closes  the  sequence  in  the  Dalton  residence  to  which  location  we  do  not 
again  return.  Sometimes  a  fade-out  is  used  to  bridge  an  elapse  of  time  where  no 
sub-title  is  used.  In  scene  194  of  "For  Husbands  Only"  we  leave  Van,  who  has 
agreed  to  meet  Toni  in  half  an  hour.  The  scene  fades  out  and  then  scene  195 
fades  in  and  we  see  Van  in  the  park,  after  an  elapse  of  thirty  minutes.  Knowing 
where  he  was  going  and  how  long  it  was  going  to  take,  a  sub-title  would  have  been 
quite  superfluous. 

33.  The  iris  is  sometimes  used  to  give  emphasis  to  a  person  or  object,  closing 
down  until  all  but  a  small  portion  of  a  scene  is  blotted  out.  This  might  have  been 
done  in  scene  218  of  'Tor  Husbands  Only."  Had  this  method  been  used  we 
would  have  seen  Samuel  take  the  note  from  the  footman,  and  then  the  iris  would 
have  slowly  closed  down  until  nothing  but  the  note  was  visible.  As  the  scene 
stands,  the  close-up  of  the  note  affords  a  clearer  view  of  its  contents.  Sometimes 
we  see  a  close-up  of  a  man  signing  a  check,  and  then  the  iris  closes  down  until 
nothing  but  his  signature  is  visible.  In  this  way  the  complete  attention  of  the 
audience  is  forced  upon  the  name,  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else. 

THE  DISSOLVE. 

34.  In  the  dissolve  the  entire  scene  gradually  appears  or  disappears  as  though 
out  of  or  into  a  black  mist.  In  the  "lap-dissolve"  we  see  one  scene  dissolve  into 
another.  The  effect  is  obtained  by  lapping  the  end  of  the  negative  of  one  scene 
over  the  negative  of  the  opening  of  the  next.  In  the  print  the  two  scenes  mingle  for 
a  brief  space.  On  the  screen  we  see  a  scene  start  to  become  indistinct,  but  before  it  has 
disappeared  another  scene  emerges  from  the  blur  without  interruption. 

This  is  used  infrequently  and  is  a  technicality  that  need  not  particularly 
concern  the  novice, — it  is  essentially  a  laboratory  matter,  as  is  the  "chemical  dis- 
solve," which  is  the  same  effect  produced  by  the  use  of  chemicals.  None  of  these 
detailed  effects  need  consume  much  time  in  the  prepartion  of  a  synopsis  for  sub- 
. mission  to  a  producing  company,  as  they  will  be  dealt  with  by  the  expert  continuity 
writer  who  is  in  close  touch  with  the  policy  of  his  company  as  to  their  uses. 

DOUBLE  EXPOSURE. 

35.  A  double  exposure  is  obtained  by  exposing  the  same  film  twice,  or  by 
printing  two  negatives,  one  over  the  other,  on  the  same  piece  of  positive  film. 
Double  exposure  is  used  for  several  reasons.  In  a  completed  picture  we  may  see 
a  woman  walking  in  her  sleep  along  the  edge  of  a  tall  building.  The  actual  scene 
would  be  a  dangerous  one  to  photograph,  so  the  camera  is  first  taken  to  the  top 
of  the  building  and  a  scene  made  of  the  locality  itself.  Then  the  camera  man 
returns  to  the  studio,  the  film  is  re-wound  and  a  scene  is  taken  on  the  top  of  the 
building.  She  is  in  reality  walking  on  a  stage  with  a  plain  background,  but  by 
careful  matching  in  the  setting  and  focusing  the  camera  the  two  exposures  result 
in  the  appearance  of  the  woman  actually  walking  along  the  edge  of  the  building, 
whereas  she  may  have  never  seen  the  building. 

36.  Double  exposure  is  also  used  in  obtaining  the  effect  of  a  "vision."  A 
man  may  be  seated  in  an  arm  chair  looking  into  a  grate,  deep  in  meditation.  Then 
a  scene  appears  in  the  grate,  a  "vision"  of  the  subject  of  his  thoughts.  This  effect  is 
secured  in  the  same  way;  the  scene  of  the  man  is  taken,  then  the  film  re-wound 
in  the  camera,  and  the  scene  that  appears  in  the  grate  is  taken.  Either  of  the 
effects  above  mentioned  could  be  obtained  by  taking  the  separate  scenes  on  different 
negatives  and   printing  one  over  the  other,  thus  printing  both  on   a  single  positive. 

37.  As  a   rule,   however,   the  dissolve  is   more  effective  than   the  vision   as  a 

102 


means  of  showing  what  a  character  is  thinking  of,  as  it  allows  the  use  of  the  full 
screen  for  each  scene,  whereas  in  the  vision  one  scene  must  of  necessity  be  small 
because  it  appears  as  a  scene  within  a  scene. 

THE  FLASH. 

38.  A  flash  is  a  scene  which  appears  for  a  brief  moment  and  then  disappears; 
it  is  a  scene  flashed  on  the  screen.  The  flash  is  frequently  used  in  the  case  of  a 
letter  or  telegram  shown  upon  the  screen.  When  the  letter  is  first  shown  the 
audience  is  given  ample  time  to  read  it.  When  it  is  shown  again.;  oossibly  in  the 
hands  of  the  person  receiving  it,  it  is  flashed  on  the  screen  for  a  moment,  for  the 
audience  has  already  read  it,  and  it  is  shown  again  merely  to  identify  it. 

REVERSE  ACTION. 

39.  Reverse  action  is  a  trick  of  photography  that  is  of  little  interest  to  the 
author,  being  a  technical  means  of  gaining  an  end  that  concerns  the  director  and 
camera  man  rather  than  the  creator  of  the  story.  It  consists  of  turning  the  film 
backward  in  the  camera.  Let  us  suppose  that  it  is  desirable  to  show  an  automobile 
running  up  a  flight  of  steps  and  through  the  doors  of  a  public  building.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  have  the  car  actually  do  this,  so  it  is  backed  out  of  the  doors  and  down 
the  steps,  guided  by  invisible  wires,  the  film  being  turned  backward  at  the  same 
time.  When  the  film  is  developed  and  printed  and  placed  in  its  proper  sequence 
in  the  completed  picture,  the  effect  is  that  of  the  automobile  running  up  the  steps 
instead  of  backing  doun,  and  the  desired  end  is  gained.  This  is  a  studio  technicality 
that  is  of  only  passing  interest  to  the  author,  who  has  only  to  state  the  effect  desired, 
within  reason,  and  the  director  and  cameraman  will  supply  the  means  of  obtaining 
such  effect. 


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CHAPTER  XVIII 

Preparation  and  Submission  of  Manuscript 

1.  First  be  sure  that  your  story  is  just  as  strong  and  complete  as  you  know 
how  to  make  it.  Re-write  your  synopsis  a  hundred  times  rather  than  send  out  a 
story  that  is  not  the  very  best  that  you  are  capable  of  writing.  This  applies  to 
stories  submitted  to  producing  companies,  to  the  Palmer  Plan  Photoplay  Sales 
Department  or  to  the  Palmer  Plan  Advisory  Bureau.  Never  cease  work  on  a 
story  with  the  thought  that  it  is  "good  enough,"  but  continue  to  revise  and  improve 
it  until  it  is  the  best — insofar  as  you  are  able  to  approach  perfection. 

2.  Choose  manuscript  paper  of  the  8j4  by  14  inch  size,  preferably.  This  need 
not  be  regarded  as  a  rigid  rule,  but  it  is  the  most  convenient  size  of  paper  to  handle. 

3.  Use  a  typewriter  if  possible.  In  submitting  manuscripts  direct  to  studios 
a  typewriter  must  be  used,  as  manuscripts  prepared  in  any  other  manner  will  receive 
scant  attention. 

USE  typewriter  if  possible. 

4.  In  submitting  manuscripts  to  the  Palmer  Plan  Photoplay  Sales  Department 
or  Advisory  Bureau,  if  the  member  finds  it  a  hardship  to  obtain  a  typewriter  or  the 
services  of  a  stenographer,  manuscripts  may  be  prepared  in  pen  and  ink,  provided  the 
handwriting  is  clear,  distinct,  and   legible.      Use  a  typewriter  if  possible,   however. 

5.  On  the  first  page  of  your  manuscript,  place  your  name  and  address  in  the 
upper  left-hand  corner.  In  the  center  of  this  page,  place  the  main  title.  Beneath 
the  main  title,  put  down  the  nature  of  the  story  and  the  probable  number  of  reels, 
such  as  "A  Drama  in  Five  Reels,"  or  "A  Comedy  in  Two  Reels,"  or  "A  Western 
Melodrama  in  Six  Reels."     Under  this  place  "By"  and  give  your  full  name. 

6.  On  the  second  page  place  the  explanatory  cast  of  characters. 

7.  On  the  third  page,  the  brief  synopsis  should  appear.  This,  as  has  been 
explained,  should  contain  the  barest  skeleton  of  the  story  in  a  few  crisp  paragraphs — 
one  paragraph,  if  possible.  The  person  to  whom  the  story  is  submitted  should  be 
enabled  to  acquaint  himself  with  the  theme  and  atmosphere  of  a  story  at  a  glance. 
The  brief  synopsis  is  the  story  reduced  to  the  fewest  number  of  words  and  of 
course  the  strength  must  originally  lie  in  the  story  itself.  It  is  quite  impossible  to 
write  a  good  synopsis  unless  the  story  contains  good  qualities  to  write  about.  There- 
fore, be  sure  you  first  have  a  good  story,  then  crowd  all  of  its  strength  into  the 
briefest  possible  outline. 

8.  On  the  next  page,  start  your  direct  detailed  synopsis,  and  be  sure  that  it  is 
clear,  complete,  and  reasonably  brief.  Bring  out  all  the  strong  points  of  your  story 
and  every  necessary  detail,  starting  at  the  beginning  and  following  the  action  through 
to  the  end  in  consecutive  order. 

9.  Write  on  one  side  of  paper  only. 

10.  Leave  sufficient  space  between  lines  so  that  the  matter  is  not  crowded  and 
may  be  easily  read.     Double-spacing  is  preferable. 

104 


1 1 .  When  the  manuscript  is  complete,  fasten  the  pages  together  securely, 
numbering  each  page  at  the  top  or  bottom,  and  leaving  sufficient  margin  so  that  no 
portion  of  the  writing  is  hidden. 

BE  PLAIN  AND  NEAT. 

12.  Do  not  adorn  your  manuscript  with  ribbon,  pen  and  ink  decorations,  or 
anything  but  the  story.  It  seems  ridiculous  that  this  rule  should  have  to  be  set 
down  here,  but  I  have  run  across  a  good  many  yards  of  ribbon  in  my  perusals  of 
submitted  manuscripts. 

13.  Retain  a  carbon  copy  of  your  manuscript — pieces  of  mail  sometimes  go 
astray. 

14.  Never,  under  any  circumstances,  submit  a  carbon  copy  to  an  editor. 

15.  It  is  unnecessary  for  you  to  accompany  your  manuscript  with  a  letter. 
The  editor  does  not  want  to  hear  from  you — he  wants  a  story  unencumbered  with 
useless  matter  of  any  kind. 

16.  Do  not  submit  your  story  to  more  than  one  company  at  a  time.  If  both 
should  decide  to  accept  it  and  should  start  production,  you  would  find  yourself  in 
a  very  embarrassing  predicament  to  say  the  least. 

17.  It  is  well,  as  a  rule,  to  leave  the  rtiatter  of  price  to  the  person  who 
considers  the  purchase  of  the  manuscript.  With  few  exceptions  all  companies  are 
fair  as  to  ample  remuneration  and  will  pay  all  that  a  story  is  worth,  according  to 
its  merit  and  length.  If  you  set  an  arbitrary  price  you  are  quite  as  likely  to  name 
a  sum  less  than  the  company  would  pay  as  you  are  to  exceed  the  limit. 

18.  Enclose  your  manuscript  either  flat  in  a  full-sized  manuscript  envelope,  fold 
it  once  in  a  medium-sized  manuscript  envelope,  or  fold  it  twice  in  a  small  manu- 
script envelope. 

SEND  RETURN  POSTAGE. 

19.  Always  enclose  a  self-addressed  return  envelope,  stamped  with  the  full 
amount  of  return  postage.  Use  a  good  quality  of  envelope  as  those  of  cheap,  flimsy 
material  frequently  break  open  in  the  mails. 

20.  Wait  a  reasonable  length  of  time  for  the  receipt  of  a  check  or  the  return 
of  your  manuscript.  Frequently  a  story  is  held  for  a  second  or  third  reading,  or  for 
conference  with  a  director  or  star,  before  a  final  decision  is  made.  No  news  is 
usually  good  news.  The  longer  your  story  is  held,  the  greater  its  chance  ot 
acceptance. 

21.  If  your  manuscript  is  returned  to  you  in  a  soiled  condition,  make  a  new 
copy  before  submitting  again.  A  soiled  manuscript  does  not  make  a  good  impression 
upon  an  editor,  and  indications  of  its  having  been  rejected  by  other  companies  are 
likely  to  have  a  psychological  effect  of  a  negative  nature. 

22.  All  manuscripts  handled  by  the  Palmer  Plan  Photoplay  Sales  Department 
are  copied  onto  an  expensive  quality  of  bond  paper,  and  bound  in  art  covers,  free  of 
charge  to  members. 


105 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Subjects  to  Avoid 

1.  The  range  of  subjects  from  which  to  choose  photoplay  plots  is  so  vast  that  to 
set  down  any  other  than  a  suggestive  list  would  be  practically  impossible,  but  there 
are  certain  general  subjects  that  should  be  avoided,  and  the  reasons  are  so  obvious  that 
it  is  unnecessary  to  enlarge  upon  them.  Yet  the  mails  received  by  the  editors  of  pro- 
ducing companies  contain  so  many  stories  based  upon  these  forbidden  or  undesirable 
themes  that  it  seems  well  to  make  brief  mention  of  them. 

WAR    STORIES. 

2.  At  the  close  of  the  war  the  market  for  stories  dealing  with  battle,  spying  and 
other  phases  of  war  was  reduced  to  a  minimum.  People  were  tired  of  it  all  and  so 
many  had  lost  friends  or  relatives  during  the  term  of  actual  warfare  that  they  did  not 
want  to  be  reminded  of  the  subject.  No  doubt  there  will  come  a  time  when  there 
will  be  a  demand  for  war  stories,  just  as  there  did  a  few  years  after  the  close  of  the 
Civil  War  in  the  United  States.  Many  war  stories  were  produced  during  nineteen 
seventeen  and  eighteen  and  the  early  part  of  nineteen  nineteen,  and  these  sufficed  to 
practically  exhaust  the  subject,  temporarily  at  least.  In  the  future,  when  the  story 
market  opens  to  war  subjects,  there  will  undoubtedly  be  a  demand  for  stories  dealing 
with  vitally  human  characterizations  in  which  the  effect  of  war  conditions  upon  the 
individual  is  shown,  rather  than  those  in  which  the  physical  "punch"  is  overdone  in 
battle  scenes.  The  reconstruction  period  is  as  full  of  dramatic  possibilities  as  is  the 
actual  scene  of  mortal  combat. 

IMMORALITY. 

3.  Sex  stories,  filth  and  gross  immorality,  pictures  merely  to  create  sensation,  are 
occasionally  exhibited  by  misguided  and  shortsighted  showmen,  but  the  demand  for  this 
style  of  offering  is  waning  and  it  is  futile  to  write  such  material.  The  picturization  of 
the  use  of  drugs  and  liquor  is  more  and  more  taboo.  In  fact,  all  manner  of  unclean 
and  vulgar  subjects  are  to  be  discouraged.  There  are  so  many  clean,  wholesome  and 
decent  things  to  write  into  photoplay  plots  that  the  inclination  to  create  screen  fiction 
of  an  opposite  nature  is  indicative  of  a  mental  perversion  that  is  not  even  profitable. 

Unpunished  vice  must  not  be  shown,  although  a  certain  amount  of  wrong  must 
appear  in  order  to  offer  opposition  to  right  and  its  eventual  triumph.  Unpleasant 
endings  are  not  usually  wanted,  even  though  they  may  be  considered  "artistic"  by  their 
authors.  The  darkest  hours  of  misery  and  despair  in  the  lives  of  all  humanity  are 
borne  through  a  dominant  hope  that  all  will  end  well,  and  screen  stories  are  reflections 
of  life.  Even  though  some  events  and  some  lives  end  in  disaster,  normal  people  do  not 
like  to  witness  pictures  of  such  wreckage  of  hope  and  faith. 

PLAGIARISM. 

4.  Do  not  copy  or  "borrow"  from  books,  magazines,  newspapers  or  produced 
photoplays.  You  may  absorb  many  excellent  suggestions  from  all  of  these;  they  may 
start  your  own  brain  to  working  along  a  line  of  thought,  but  never  stoop  to  actual 
plagiarism. 

5.  Do  not  attempt  to  write  serials  or  multi-reel  features  until  you  have  established 

106 


a  success  with  shorter  subjects.  Stories  of  the  magnitude  of  "The  Birth  of  a  Nation" 
and  "Intolerance"  were  not  attempted  by  even  D.  W.  Griffith  himself  until  he  had 
produced  hundreds  of  lesser  pictures.  Yet  I  have  been  approached  upon  a  number  of 
occasions  by  persons  who  have  assured  me  that  they  had  written  something  "much 
bigger."  Such  gigantic  spectacles  as  "Intolerance"  represent  the  occasional  feast  of 
the  screen,  but  there  must  be  a  steady  diet  of  virile,  interesting  stories  of  from  two  to 
five  reels,  and  therein  lies  the  burden  of  the  general  demand. 

Do  not  dash  at  any  subject  in  a  haphazard  way  and  waste  time  on  it  unless  you 
have  well-founded  reason  to  suppose  that  there  is  a  demand  for  it. 

PERMANENT  DEMANDS. 

6.  Five-reel  dramas  and  comedy-dramas  are  in  greater  demand  than  anything  as 
a  rule.    One  and  two-reel  comedies  that  are  really  comedies  will  always  find  a  market. 

7.  Deal  with  subjects  with  which  you  are  familiar;  write  of  people  and  things 
closest  to  you ;  leave  the  stories  of  foreign  countries  and  distant  lands  to  those  who  have 
visited  them  and  know  whereof  they  write. 

8.  Do  not  write  "dream  stories" — improbable  tales  that  are  finally  ended  with 
the  explanation  that  "it  was  all  a  dream."  There  are  infrequent  exceptions  wherein 
the  idea  may  be  so  unusual  and  absorbing  that  you  may  be  excused  for  the  dream 
explanation,  but  they  are  the  exceptions  that  prove  the  rule.  The  dream  story  is 
usually  the  last  resort  of  a  writer  whose  limited  originality  forces  him  into  this  con- 
venient refuge,  but  unless  you  evolve  an  idea  that  is  quite  out  of  the  ordinary  and 
possesses  rare  strength  and  interest,  your  dream  excuse  for  it  will  earn  you  no  better 
than  a  rejection  slip. 

9.  No  race  or  location  may  be  safely  chosen  as  a  target  for  ridicule.  There  are 
certain  racial  characteristics  that  may  be  made  the  subject  of  gentle  humor,  but  the 
author  must  so  handle  such  material  that  the  audience  laughs  with  and  not  at  the 
characterizations  of  those  races  which  appear  on  the  screen.  This  is  equally  true  of 
the  several  states  and  sections  of  our  own  country.  A  story,  to  be  acceptable,  must  deal 
with  the  hopes  and  fears  and  heart-throbs  of  humanity,  with  pointed  bitterness  toward 
no  race,  color  or  religion.  The  unusual  conditions  brought  about  by  the  world  war 
have  excused  some  exceptions  to  this  rule. 

BE    ORIGINAL. 

10.  Finally — avoid  the  obvious.  There  are  a  handful  of  situations  upon  which 
plots  are  based  with  such  frequent  repetition  that  one  is  inclined  to  wonder  at  it,  but  a 
little  thought  reveals  to  us  the  reason,  which  may  be  expressed  in  one  brief  phrase — the 
line  of  least  resistance.  The  embryonic  author  sets  out  to  evolve  a  plot,  and  in  casting 
about  for  a  basic  situation,  he  lazily  grasps  one  of  the  obvious  and  frequently  encoun- 
tered happenings  of  life  and,  without  trying  to  give  it  a  newness  of  thought  or  action, 
works  it  out  in  the  same  lazy  manner  that  he  first  allowed  it  to  drift  into  his  mind. 
The  result  is  a  story  that  in  an  essential  way  repeats  what  has  been  written  by  hun- 
dreds of  possessors  of  equally  lazy  minds  and  methods.  It  is  not  intentional  plagiarism 
— it  is  just  mental  laziness.  In  fact,  some  plots  have  been  used  so  many  times  in  the 
same  old  way  that  plagiarism  is  not  an  appropriate  word,  for  nobody  claims  the 
hackneyed  and  time-worn  subject.  Therefore,  there  being  no  owner,  theft  is  as 
impossible  as  it  is  undesirable. 

PERSONAL  ADVISORY  SERVICE 

11.  Do  not  fail  to  make  use  of  this  important  unit  of  the  Palmer  Plan. 

12.  Your  preparation  is  by  no  means  complete  until  you  have  submitted  to  us 
synopses  of  the  allotted  number  original  plots,  which  you  have  worked  out  as  a  result  of 
your  study  of  the  contents  of  this  book  and  of  your  analysis  of  the  accompanymg 
scenarios. 

13.  You   are  allowed  one  year  in  which   to  prepare  and  submit  to  us  these 

107 


stories.  Take  ample  time  to  construct  your  plots  and  send  one  at  a  time.  Thus 
you  may  profit  by  the  criticism  that  you  receive  with  your  first  story  in  preparing 
your  subsequent  synopses.  This  work  of  criticism  and  constructive  suggestion  is  car- 
ried on  under  my  personal  supervision,  and  will  at  all  times  be  based  upon  frank 
and  fair  judgment  of  your  work.  Your  feelings  will  not  be  spared  when  faults  are  dis- 
covered ;  every  weakness  in  your  construction  and  treatment  will  be  pointed  out  to  you, 
thus  enabling  you  to  concentrate  j'our  study  upon  the  details  in  which  you  are  most 
lacking.  When  strength  and  originality  are  found,  you  will  be  quite  as  readily 
rewarded  with  honest  praise. 

14.  When  a  manuscript  is  found  to  contain  sufficient  merit,  it  will  be  brought 
to  the  attention  of  some  producer  or  producers  who  are  in  need  of  stories,  by  the 
Palmer  Plan  Photoplay  Sales  Department,  if  the  author  so  desires.  If,  however,  the 
author  prefers  to  handle  the  sale  of  the  manuscript  personally,  we  shall  be  pleased  to 
advise  as  to  the  most  likely  market. 

15.  Remember  that  each  of  the  coupons  in  the  Service  Book  may  be  worth 
many  times  its  face  value  in  intrinsic  appraisement,  if  used  within  the  prescribed  time 
limit.     Do  not  allow  procrastination  to  deprive  you  of  this  profitable  opportunity. 


108 


CHAPTER  XX 

How  TO  Study  the  Screen 

1.  The  advice  most  frequently  flung  to  the  seeker  after  knowledge  of  photo- 
play writing  is,  "Study  the  screen."  It  is  a  bit  of  wisdom  that  is  easy  to  utter,  and  it 
is  a  successful  means  of  "passing  the  buck" — covering,  as  it  does,  the  entire  field  of 
possible  enlightenment  with  three  short  words.  It  is  good  advice,  without  a  question, 
but  quite  as  incomplete  as  an  airplane  without  a  propeller.  An  expert  watchmaker 
might  as  well  say,  "To  learn  watchmaking,  study  the  watch."  In  either  case  the 
student  must  be  guided  by  a  definite  objective  and  must  be  equipped  with  a  suggestive 
study  plan,  or  a  large  proportion  of  his  time  will  be  wasted  in  aimless,  haphazard 
and  futile  groping. 

2.  When  you  sit  down  in  a  photoplay  theatre  to  study  a  picture,  do  not  content 
yourself  with  one  view  of  it;  see  it  several  times  according  to  the  plan  that  I  shall  set 
forth  herewith.  I  urge  you  to  see  as  many  pictures  as  your  time  and  means  will  per- 
mit, but  if  you  face  a  choice  of  seeing  many  in  a  superficial  manner  or  a  few  thor- 
oughly so  that  your  opportunity  for  study  may  be  complete,  choose  the  latter.  The 
first  viewing  of  a  picture  should  be  with  an  open  mind  and  for  the  enjoyment  of  its 
entertaining  qualities.  Assume  the  mental  attitude  of  an  ordinary  spectator  who  has 
dropped  in  to  be  amused  and  entertained.  Be  in  a  receptive  mood — just  sit  back  and 
enjoy  the  picture. 

ANALYTICAL   VISUALIZATION. 

3.  Then  go  out  and  find  a  quiet  spot  and  visualize  the  picture  from  start  to 
finish.  Close  your  eyes  and  see  the  screen  in  your  mind ;  run  off  the  whole  film 
mentally.  Then  start  and  dissect  it.  Why  did  it  entertain  you,  or,  if  it  failed  to 
please  you  in  any  degree,  why  did  it  fail?  Was  the  subject  pleasing?  Was  it  true  to 
life?  Was  it  logical?  Were  the  situations  strong?  Was  there  an  element  of  sus- 
pense that  held  you  breathless  until  it  was  worked  out  to  a  conclusion?  Was  there 
heart  interest?  Was  there  sequence  and  unity — was  the  story  smooth  and  consecutive, 
or  was  it  disconnected  and  difficult  to  follow?  Did  the  interest  slump  and  lag  in  any 
spot,  or  did  it  hold  you  in  its  spell  throughout?  Was  there  anything  offensive  to  your 
sensibilities  or  your  ideas  of  decency?  Was  there  a  moral?  If  so,  was  it  presented  in 
a  pleasing  way  or  did  the  story  preach  too  much?  Consider  these  things  and  every 
other  element  that  you  can  summon  to  your  mind. 

Pick  it  to  pieces  and  see  what  it  is  made  of.  Was  the  idea  new?  If  not,  was  an 
old  idea  presented  in  a  new  light?  Was  the  outcome  obvious — did  you  guess  how  it 
was  all  coming  out  long  before  the  end  was  reached?  Or,  did  the  eventual  conclu- 
sion come  to  you  as  a  surprise?  Examine  every  detail  separately  until  you  have 
looked  into  every  nook  and  corner  of  its  construction.  Now  go  back  and  see  the  pic- 
ture again.  This  time  you  are  in  a  critical  frame  of  mind;  you  have  a  chip  on  your 
shoulder;  you  are  alert  for  every  fault  or  weakness;  you  are  looking  for  even  the 
smallest  error.     Never  mind  the  acting— it  is  the  plot,  the  story  that  interests  you. 

109 


e 


as  a  writer — you  are  not  concerned  with  the  work  of  the  actors  or  the  director  or  the 
cameraman,  except  to  determine  if  a  poor  story  was  made  pleasing  by  their  artistic 
efforts. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  clever  direction,  appealing  acting  and  beautiful 
photography  so  cover  a  wretched  story  that,  to  the  casual  observer,  the  impression  is 
generally  good.  In  that  case  all  deserve  praise  except  the  author.  But,  as  a  critical 
student,  don't  allow  yourself  to  be  deceived — you  are  studying  the  story.  Your  ob- 
servation must  tear  aside  all  other  elements  and  go  right  to  the  very  heart  of  the  plot 
and  its  construction.  If  you  were  deceived  at  the  first  viewing  of  the  picture  you  will 
be  better  prepared  this  time.  Little  items  that  escaped  your  observation  before  will 
not  get  by  this  time — do  not  let  anything  escape  your  watchful  eye  or  your  mind. 

THOUGHTFUL    CRITICISM. 

4.  After  you  have  seen  the  picture  in  its  completeness  for  the  second  time  (if 
circumstances  prohibit  more  than  one  visit  you  will  have  to  concentrate  all  of  your 
critical  efforts  in  the  single  viewing  of  the  film),  take  the  subject  home  with  you  and 
give  it  more  thought.  Could  you  have  taken  the  same  subject  and  written  a  better 
story?  How  could  you  have  improved  it?  Would  you  have  brought  it  to  a  different 
termination  ?  Or  would  you  have  worked  out  a  different  means  of  arriving  at  the 
same  termination?  Sit  down  and  write  a  synopsis  of  the  story  as  it  stands;  then 
take  the  same  idea  and  see  how  you  can  improve  on  it.  You  may  hit  upon  a  thought 
that  will  lead  you  to  a  strong  plot  of  a  wholly  different  character.  One  plot  or 
situation  frequently  suggests  another  and  perhaps  a  much  better  one. 

Never  under  any  circumstances  attempt  to  take  a  plot  and  with  one  or  t\vo 
minor  changes  and  disguises,  present  it  as  your  own — that  is  merely  a  half-covered 
form  of  theft.  But  the  analysis  of  other  men's  plots  and  the  suggestive  leads  that 
result  are  invaluable  helps  to  any  writer.  Progressive  members  of  every  business  or 
profession  are  constantly  studying  the  work  and  methods  of  their  competitors  and 
endeavoring  to  improve  upon  them  wherever  they  find  a  possibility  of  betterment. 
It  is  necessary  that  you  keep  in  touch  with  just  as  great  a  proportion  of  the  stories  that 
are  being  filmed  as  circumstances  will  allow.  In  this  way,  if  you  think  clearly  and 
analyze  carefully,  you  will  keep  abreast  of  the  progress  of  writers  whose  work  has 
brought  them  success  and  at  the  same  time  you  will  maintain  a  familiarity  with  the 
story  policies  of  the  numerous  producing  companies.     Briefly,  you  will  be  up-to-date. 

STUDY  THE  AUDIENCE. 

5.  Watching  the  audience  is  another  angle  of  picture-study.  Listen  to  the  com- 
ments of  all  classes  of  persons ;  note  the  effect  of  a  picture  as  a  whole  or  in  its  several 
different  qualities  of  appeal.  Do  not  always  allow  your  own  judgment  to  be  final; 
discuss  pictures  that  you  see  with  others  and  ascertain  their  views.  Be  broad  in  your 
thinking,  but  never  careless  or  trivial.  The  viewpoints  and  suggestions  of  others  will 
frequently  present  an  entirely  new  aspect  to  you.  Women  are  keener  critics  than  men 
in  many  cases ;  the  opinions  of  children  are  worth  listening  to  as  well.  Approach  your 
subject  from  every  angle — then  form  your  own  final  opinions  as  a  result  of  the  whole. 

COMPARATIVE  CRITICISM. 

6.  When  you  have  formed  a  conclusive  opinion  regarding  a  picture,  resulting 
from  a  thorough  sifting  of  every  consideration  judged  from  your  viewpoint  and  that 
of  others,  read  the  criticisms  in  the  trade  papers  and  magazines  devoted  to  motion 
pictures,  and  in  whatever  newspapers  there  may  be  that  devote  a  department  to  such 
matters.  Compare  your  ideas  with  those  of  the  professional  critics;  weigh  their 
opinions  with  yours.  Do  not  be  easily  influenced  by  them  merely  because  they  are 
paid  critics — you  have  as  much  right  to  your  ideas  as  they  have  to  theirs,  and  you  are 
quite  as  likely  to  be  right.  They  are  individuals,  the  same  as  you  are  an  individual — 
it  is  wholly  and  simply  a  matter  of  point  of  view.    The  balance  of  authority  of  the 

110 


critic's  statements  may  be  greater  to  a  reasonable  degree  in  point  of  experience  and 
familiarit)'  with  a  greater  number  of  exhibited  photoplays,  but  it  is  on  account  of 
this  very  thing  that  critics  sometimes  go  a  bit  stale  and  become  blase  and  calloused. 

So,  after  all,  your  fresher  and  more  ingenuous  point  of  view  may  be  more  repre- 
sentative of  the  general  opinions  of  an  average  audience  than  that  of  an  experienced 
professional  critic.  In  any  event,  a  comparison  of  criticisms  is  valuable,  so  I  advise  a 
reading  of  as  many  trade  papers  and  magazines  as  you  are  able  to  obtain.  Any  news- 
dealer will  acquaint  you  with  the  names  of  the  most  prominent  journals  of  this  class. 
In  your  perusal  of  these  publications  you  will  also  have  an  opportunity  to  keep  in  touch 
with  frequent  statements  made  by  producers  as  to  the  kind  of  stories  they  need.  A 
knowledge  of  the  story  market  is  necessary  at  all  times — your  finished  manuscript  is  a 
commodity  that  you  are  dealing  in,  and  you  must  possess  selling  knowledge  and  ability 
as  well  as  creative.  Therefore  you  must  be  awake  to  all  that  is  going  on  in  the  market 
and  direct  the  sale  of  your  wares  accordingly. 


Ill 


PART  FOUR 


Analyses    ot   Successful   Photoplays  that 

Have  Been  Produced  and 

Exhibited. 


"For   Husbands  Only" 
"Speed  and  Suspicion" 
"Gates  of  Brass" 
Conclusion 


113 


SUCCESS— CONFIDENCE 


You  should  acquire  the  habit,  by  exercise  of  will-power  and  constant  practice,  of 
belittling  all  the  difficulties  of  your  life.  Believe  nothing  reasonable  to  be  impossible. 
If  you  have  magnified  difficulties  (as  is  likely),  you  can  also  minify  them.  The  effort 
merely  requires  time  and  patience,  and  it  may  be  assisted  by  the  courageous  assertion 
frequently  made: 

"/  am!  I  am  power!  I  can  and  1  will  overcome  zuhere  I  ought  to  overcome!" 

Frank  Channing  Haddock. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
Analysis  of  Continuity  of  "For  Husbands  Only" 

1.  Sub-title  number  1  and  scene  number  1,  which  it  introduces,  strike  the 
keynote  of  this  photoplay.  The  sub-title  supplies  us  with  the  information  that 
the  private  theatre  which  we  are  about  to  view  is  maintained  by  Rolin  Van  D'Arcy 
in  his  magnificent  home  for  the  performance  of  his  own  plays.  Indirectly,  however, 
the  eighteen  words  contained  in  this  sub-title  tell  us  much  more.  Almost  subcon- 
sciously we  deduce  that  Van  D'Arcy  is  a  man  of  wealth  else  he  could  not  possess 
so  expensive  a  toy  as  a  private  theatre. 

We  also  sense  that  he  is  a  dilettante  of  some  cleverness,  for  we  are  informed 
that  he  is  the  author  of  the  plays  produced  in  his  theatre.  As  the  eye  of  the  camera 
discloses  the  luxuriously  appointed  interior,  we  find  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  the 
atmosphere  of  wealth  and  social  exclusion  that  surrounds  and  envelops  the  entire 
storj'.  The  artistic  beauty  of  the  stage  settings  and  of  the  scene  that  is  being  enacted 
on  the  stage  leaves  no  doubt  as  to  Van  D'Arcy 's  temperament.  It  is  as  though  we 
were  seated  well  back  in  the  pictured  audience  sharing  its  view  of  the  performance. 

introducing  characters. 

2.  Scene  2  reveals  what  is  taking  place  in  the  wings  at  one  side  of  the  stage. 
We  see  the  actors  in  Van's  play  awaiting  their  entrance  cues,  and  we  share  with 
them  the  "back-stage"  atmosphere  of  nervous  tensity.  Sub-title  2  introduces  Van 
D'Arcy  and  throws  further  light  on  his  character,  telling  us  briefly,  but  no  less 
plainly,  that  were  it  not  for  his  money  the  smiles  of  the  parasites  and  flatterers  who 
surround  him  would  be  turned  to  frowns,  owing  to  his  unsavory  reputation. 

After  a  peep  at  Van  in  scene  3,  Toni  is  introduced  in  sub-title  3  which  contains 
more  enlightening  information.  We  are  told  that  Toni  is  a  debutante  and  that  Van 
has  cast  her  in  the  leading  role  of  his  play  because  he  is  interested  in  her  as  a  "new 
sensation."  This  information  is  double-barreled  for  it  conveys  to  us  the  fact  that 
our  sinful  bachelor  is  more  inclined  toward  the  promiscuity  of  a  rake  than  the 
constancy  of  a  true  lover. 

3.  Scene  4  discloses  Toni  smiling  innocently  at  Van.  Sub-title  4  introduces 
Samuel  Dodge  and  simultaneously  divulges  that  he  as  well  as  Van  is  interested  in 
Toni  and  that  Samuel  is  more  of  a  business  man  than  a  social  butterfly. 

4.  In  scene  5  we  see  Samuel  nervously  studying  his  lines  and  this,  added  to 
the  information  in  sub-title  4  that  Van  acted  upon  a  malicious  motive  in  casting 
Samuel  in  the  part,  reveals  the  foundation  of  the  plot.  In  four  sub-titles  and  five 
scenes  we  have  become  acquainted  with  the  three  principal  characters  of  our  tri- 
angular plot,  and  we  have  become  immersed  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  stor>'. 

5.  Scenes  6  to  11,  inclusive,  add  to  our  intimacy  with  the  surroundings.  A 
closer  view  of  the  dancing  girls  and  a  glimpse  of  the  orchestra  further  impresses  us 
with  the  sensuous  beauty  of  the  performance  that  is  taking  place.  We  see  Toni 
looking  nervously  at  her  mother,  who  ofiFers  her  a  calm  word  of  encouragement.  The 
mother   Is   not   introduced   to   us,   as   she   is  an   unimportant  character   in   the  story 

115 


and  therefore  does  not  deserve  much  of  our  attention.  Her  presence  serves  to 
emphasize  her  daughter's  dependence  upon  her,  and  thus  to  establish  in  our  minds 
Toni's  girlishness  and  inexperience.  These  few  scenes  also  serve  to  place  us  more  fully 
in  the  atmosphere  of  the  storj'. 

ESTABLISHING    FACTIONS. 

6.  Scene  12  and  sub-title  5  provide  an  excellent  example  of  how  a  little  incident 
may  briefly  but  convincingly  inform  us  as  to  the  real  nature  of  a  character.  Van's 
suggestion  to  his  sycophantical  acquaintances  that  they  confuse  Samuel,  immediately 
causes  us  to  dislike  the  wealthy  bachelor  and  to  sympathize  with  Samuel. 

In  twelve  scenes  we  have  "chosen  sides."  We  dislike  Van  just  as  cordially  and 
possess  quite  as  warm  hearted  a  quality  of  good  will  for  Samuel  as  though  we 
had  read  several  chapters  of  description  of  their  two  personalities.  This  is  an 
excellent  illustration  of  how  little  touches  of  action  may  be  of  vast  importance  in 
lending  comprehensive  progress  to  a  photoplay  plot. 

7.  In  spite  of  our  dislike  for  Van,  we  have  a  certain  feeling  of  admiration  for 
his  cleverness  and  brilliance.  Out  of  this  we  obtain  the  moral  that  the  merely  clever 
but  unscrupulous  come  to  grief  in  the  long  run.  On  the  surface,  Van  is  a  rather 
charming  and  clever  chap,  yet  the  villainy  of  his  true  nature  leads  to  disastrous 
consequences  which  terminate  in  his  disappointment  and  eventful  failure  to  accom- 
plish what  he  sets  out  to  do. 

8.  In  scenes  13  to  54  inclusive,  we  have  the  remainder  of  this  opening  sequence. 
We  see  Van  and  his  two  servile  acquaintances  carry  out  their  contemptible  little 
plan  to  embarrass  and  humiliate  Samuel,  and  we  despise  the  polished  social  favorite 
quite  as  whole-heartedly  as  we  pity  and  sympathize  with  Samuel.  We  see  the  latter 
rush  panic-stricken  to  his  dressing  room  and  guilelessly  reflect  upon  the  mess  he  has 
made  of  things,  never  even  suspecting  that  Van  has  been  the  cause  of  it  all. 

EXPLANATORY   SUB-TITLES. 

9.  It  will  be  noticed  that  sub-titles  6  and  7  are  used  as  a  revelation  of  Samuel's 
thoughts  as  he  stands  in  a  daze  in  his  dressing  room,  ashamed  and  utterly  humiliated. 
He  is  more  concerned  with  having  spoiled  Van's  performance  and  having  embar- 
rassed Toni  than  he  is  over  his  own  awkward  position.  These  little  touches  win  our 
admiration  and  almost  our  affection  for  him  just  as  surely  as  they  strengthen  our 
dislike  for  Van,  who  so  unconcernedly  has  taken  so  unfair  an  advantage  of  his  rival. 
Triumphantly  Van  puts  his  arm  around  Toni  and  whispers  "You  are  an  inspiration," 
and  then  as  he  releases  her  and  she  starts  for  her  dressing  room  with  her  mother, 
the  introductory  sequence  comes  to  an  end. 

10.  Sub-title  9  introduces  the  "unhappy  woman  who  'inspired'  his  last  play." 
This  sub-title  contains  a  world  of  meaning.  Just  at  the  close  of  the  first  sequence, 
we  found  Van  with  his  arm  around  Toni  telling  her  that  she  is  "an  inspiration." 
Now  we  come  face  to  face  with  the  woman  who  "inspired"  his  last  play  and  we 
have  visual  proof  of  what  has  been  more  than  hinted  at  earlier  in  the  play — that 
Van  is  an  inveterate  rake.  At  the  same  time,  we  feel  apprehensive  for  innocent 
little  Toni,  toward  whom  Van's  attention  is  now  directed.  The  sub-title  tells  us 
that  his  cast-ofF  flame  is  "paying  the  piper"  and  immediately  we  see  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Dalton  in  their  home  and  we  note  the  accusing  attitude  of  Mr.  Dalton. 

11.  We  perceive  that  while  the  names  of  these  two  characters  are  used  in 
the  cast,  and  for  purposes  of  convenience  in  the  continuity,  they  are  not  introduced 
by  name  in  sub-titles.     While  they  are  more  important  to  the  progress  of  the  storv' 

116 


than  Toni's  mother,  they  are  not  vitally  concerned  with  the  latter  part  of  the  stor> 
and  the  climax,  and  therefore  are  not  named  in  an  introductory  title.  We  take  it 
for  granted  that  the  man  in  scene  55  is  the  husband  of  the  "unhappy  woman,"  but 
to  remove  any  doubt,  Mr.  Dalton  says  in  sub-title  10,  "I  am  not  the  only  husband 
he  has  made  a  fool  of."  This  short  title  confirms  our  assumption  that  the  man  who 
we  first  see  in  scene  55  is  the  wronged  husband.  This  sub-title  also  plainly  indicates 
that  Van  is  the  subject  of  the  angry  words  that  are  being  exchanged. 

12.  Scenes  55  to  59,  inclusive,  and  sub-titles  9,  10,  and  11  briefly  tell  us  what 
might  easily  consume  several  long  and  detailed  chapters  in  a  novel.  Earlier  in  the 
story  we  have  been  made  acquainted  with  Van's  promiscuous  tendencies  and  now, 
in  this  brief  sequence  of  three  sub-titles  and  five  scenes,  we  have  the  whole  miserable 
history  of  Mrs.  Dalton,  weak  and  pretty,  being  dazzled  by  Van's  brilliance  and 
flattery  with  the  sorrj'  result  of  an  indignant  husband  whose  love  for  her  has  turned 
to  contemptuous  anger,  and  from  whose  home  peace  and  happiness  have  fled. 

AVOIDING  THE  EXTRANEOUS. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  the  progress  of  the  story  to  know  anything  more  of  Dalton 
other  than  that  he  is  an  innocent  victim  of  Van's  selfish  ruthlessness  in  taking  his 
wife  as  a  plaything  and  then  casting  her  aside  in  order  to  pursue  Toni  as  a  new 
sensation  and  "inspiration."  This  is  a  very  useful  example  of  how  much  may  be  told 
in  a  short  space  and  how  needless  it  is  to  tell  more  than  is  necessary.  We  do  not 
care  to  know  what  Dalton's  business  is  or  how  he  came  to  meet  Mrs.  Dalton  or 
how  long  they  have  been  married. 

These  two  characters  are  brought  into  the  story  merely  to  cast  a  brighter  light 
upon  Van's  propensities  and  to  prepare  us  for  the  real  story  which  concerns  Van, 
Toni,  and  Samuel,  yet  they  fit  into  the  story  naturally  and  are  in  no  sense 
"dragged  in." 

13.  Scenes  60  to  65,  inclusive,  keep  us  in  touch  with  what  is  going  on  in  the 
Van  D'Arcy  residence  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dalton  are  quarreling  in  their  home. 
We  see  Toni  and  her  mother  in  the  former's  dressing  room  while  the  happy  girl  is 
removing  her  costume  and  preparing  to  join  the  guests  in  the  social  activities  that 
follow  the  performance.  Samuel,  in  his  dressing  room,  is  preoccupied  and  filled  with 
the  single  desire  to  get  away  and  escape  the  embarrassment  of  meeting  Toni  and 
the  other  guests.    Van  is  gloating  over  the  success  of  his  scheme  to  humiliate  Samuel. 

VALUE  OF  CONTRAST. 

14.  It  is  useful  to  pause  and  note  the  clever  use  of  the  element  of  contrast, 
two  angles  of  which  appear  at  this  spot.  We  see  Van  laughing  merrily  as  he  selects 
a  cigarette  from  a  jeweled  cigarette  case  which  is  passed  to  him,  and  at  the  same 
moment  we  are  aware  of  the  havoc  that  he  has  wrought  in  the  Dalton  home  as  we 
contemplate  the  bitter  scene  between  the  faithless  wife  and  her  unhappy  husband. 
At  the  same  time,  while  Van  is  still  gloating  over  the  ridiculous  figure  that  he  has 
made  of  Samuel  and  while  Toni  -s  filled  with  girlish  happiness  over  the  successful 
part  that  she  has  played  in  the  performance,  Samuel  is  hidden  away  in  his  dressing- 
room,  down-cast,  and  urged  by  the  one  inclination  to  slip  away  and  avoid  the  ridicule 
that  he  knows  awaits  him.  The  effectiveness  of  this  manipulation  of  contrasts  is 
obvious. 

15.  In  scene  66  we  return  to  the  contemporaneous  action  in  the  Dalton  home. 
The   quarrel   has   reached   its  height   and    Mrs.   Dalton   flings  aside  all    reserve   and 

117 


openly  declares  herself,  asserting  that  Van  does  love  her,  and  demanding  her  freedom. 
Here  the  element  of  suspense  begins  to  creep  into  the  story.  Plainly,  Mrs.  Dalton 
really  believes  that  Van  loves  her  and  so  firm  is  this  belief  that  she  is  willing  to 
risk  everything — home,  husband,  and  reputation — yet  we,  in  the  audience,  know  that 
Van  is  very  much  interested  in  Toni  at  present,  and  our  minds  stretch  forward 
with  eager  interest  as  to  what  the  outcome  of  the  growing  complication  is  going  to  be. 

16.  In  scene  67  we  see  Mr.  Dalton  leave  the  room  after  which  Mrs.  Dalton 
leaves  in  another  direction. 

SUSPENSE  INCREASES. 

17.  In  scene  68  Mrs.  Dalton  picks  up  a  telephone  and  calls  Van's  number. 
In  witnessing  the  picture  the  audience  does  not  know  to  whom  she  is  telephoning 
although  it  may  be  easily  guessed.  There  is  no  remaining  doubt,  however,  when  in 
scene  75  we  see  Van's  butler  summon  him  to  the  telephone.  Here  the  suspense 
increases  a  little  as  we  wonder  what  Van's  attitude  is  going  to  be  toward  Mrs. 
Dalton.  There  are  two  reasons  why  the  butler  receives  the  telephone  call  instead 
of  Van  answering  it  immediately.  In  the  first  place,  we  know  that  it  is  customary 
in  so  well  appointed  a  home  as  Van's  for  a  servant  to  answer  the  telephone  and  then 
summon  the  one  that  is  wanted.  In  addition  to  this  the  suspense  is  well  sustained 
through  scenes  67  to  77  as  the  audience  is  kept  waiting  and  wondering  just  what 
is  going  to  take  place. 

18.  In  scenes  78  to  81,  inclusive,  we  see  Van  and  Mrs.  Dalton  enter  into 
conversation  and  we  catch  Mrs.  Dalton's  words,  "My  husband  and  I  have  quarrelled 
terribly  about  you." 

19.  In  scene  82  all  doubt  as  to  Van's  attitude  toward  the  misguided  woman 
is  removed.  It  is  obvious  that  he  is  no  longer  interested  in  her  as  he  is  cold,  unre- 
sponsive and  very  much   bored. 

20.  From  scene  83  to  89  we  see  the  poor  woman  pleading  with  Van,  who 
finally  hangs  up  the  receiver  and  abruptly  terminates  the  conversation,  leaving  Mrs. 
Dalton  in  a  daze  of  disillusionment. 

21.  In  scene  90  Van  turns  his  back  on  the  telephone  and  dismisses  Mrs.  Dalton 
from  his  thoughts  as  he  rejoins  his  gay  companions. 

22.  Scene  91  discloses  Mr.  Dalton  searching  for  his  revolver.  There  is  no 
sub-title  to  tell  us  what  he  is  looking  for,  but  while  witnessing  this  picture,  three 
different  times  in  three  different  theatres,  I  heard  the  whispered  exclamation,  "He's 
looking  for  his  pistol!" 

This  action  seems  to  be  so  obvious  that  no  sub-title  is  required.  Those  In  the 
audience  who  are  not  sufficiently  perceptive  to  realize  what  Dalton  was  doing  are 
kept  in  a  little  temporary  doubt,  but  in  scene  92,  when  Mrs.  Dalton  looks  up 
with  a  frightened  expression  after  hearing  Mr.  Dalton  call  to  the  servant,  it  would 
be  a  dull-witted  person  who  would  fail  to  realize  the  meaning  of  the  action. 

MORE    SUSPENSE. 

23.  Through  scenes  93  to  97,  inclusive,  the  suspense  grows,  and  when  Dalton 
says,  "I  am  positive  I  left  a  gun  in  one  of  these  drawers,"  it  becomes  intense.     Is 

ns 


Dalton  going  to  shoot  his  wife?  Is  he  going  to  commit  suicide?  Is  he  going  to 
kill  Van?  Or  is  he  going  to  kill  his  wife  and  then  shoot  himself?  Tiie  mind  of 
the  audience  grasps  at  these  possibilities  as  the  suspense  tightens.  Dalton.  might 
easily  have  found  his  pistol  in  scene  91,  but  had  he  done  so  the  suspense  that  is 
sustained  throughout  the  ensuing  scenes  would  have  been  sacrificed,  and  it  must 
be  remembered  that  suspense  is  one  of  the  most  desirable  and  necessary  elements  of  a 
photoplay.  While  Dalton  and  the  servant  are  still  searching  for  the  revolver,  we 
see  Mrs.  Dalton  snatch  a  wrap  and  leave  in  her  automobile.  Instinctively  we  know 
that  she  is  going  to  Van.  In  her  desperation  this  is  the  only  faint  hope  that  now 
remains  for  her. 

24.  Scene  101  fades  out  as  Mrs.  Dalton  drives  away  from  the  Dalton  home. 
This  is  the  last  we  see  of  this  location.  We  know  that  Dalton  is  looking  for  his 
weapon,  and  we  see  Mrs.  Dalton  leave  home  quite  apparently  to  seek  Van. 

25.  Then  the  suspense  is  temporarily  relieved  as  in  scene  102  we  return  to  the 
peaceful  scene  in  Toni's  dressing  room.  We  see  the  smiling  mother  and  the  elated 
daughter  chatting  together  contentedly.  Outside  on  the  stone  steps  of  Van's  residence 
we  find  Samuel.  He  has  removed  his  costume  and  donned  his  street  clothes  and  is 
seeking  Van  to  go  through  the  formality  of  bidding  him  good-night,  after  which  he 
intends  to  slip  away  without  meeting  the  other  guests.  The  last  we  saw  of  Samuel 
was  in  scene  64,  when  he  stealthily  left  his  dressing  room  and  made  his  exit  down 
the  corridor. 

It  has  been  unnecessary  to  follow  Samuel  through  the  house  to  scene  103,  where 
we  find  him  outside  on  the  stone  steps.  Enough  action  has  taken  place  between 
scene  64  and  scene  103  to  have  allowed  him  ample  time  to  steal  about  the  house 
to  avoid  meeting  the  guests  whose  ridicule  he  fears.  The  fact  that  while  the  other 
guests  are  in  the  house,  Samuel  is  seeking  solitude  in  a  nervous  and  preoccupied 
manner  shows  us  without  the  use  of  a  sub-title  that  he  is  avoiding  the  company  of 
those  before  whom  he  has  failed  so  utterly  in  his  part  of  the  performance. 

26.  In  scenes  104  to  114,  inclusive,  we  see  Van  leave  his  dressing  room,  and 
dismissing  his  male  friends,  stop  and  obtain  Toni's  mother's  permission  to  escort 
the  supremely  happy  girl  to  where  the  other  guests  are  assembled  in  another  part 
of  the  house. 

27.  Sub-title  15  is  necessary  to  impress  us  with  the  fact  that  Toni  in  her  inex- 
perience has  lost  her  heart  to  Van,  who  in  spite  of  his  reputation  is  much  sought 
after  on  account  of  his  money  and  social  position.  We  have  seen  how  utterly  Mrs. 
Dalton  has  previously  fallen  under  the  influence  of  Van,  and  it  is  little  wonder  that 
Toni,  the  innocent  debutante,  has  been  readily  susceptible  to  Van's  flattery  and 
polished  exterior.  We  see  Van  put  his  arm  around  the  little  girl  and  lead  her  to 
the  porch  outside  his  conservator!,',  where  he  kisses  her. 

THE  STORY  GROWS. 

28.  Sub-title  16  explains  to  us  that  Toni  is  not  lightly  indulging  in  a  flirtation 
but  that  she  accepts  Van's  actions  as  a  tentative  engagement  and  that  she  is  proud 
and  happy  to  be  the  object  of  the  affections  of  a  man  whom  she  regards  as  a  wholly 
desirable  prospective  husband.  Knowing  what  we  do  of  Van's  past,  we  are  well 
aware  that  his  intentions  are  quite  diflFerent  from  what  Toni  supposes. 

119 


Instinctively  we  are  apprehensive  for  her  and  again  we  have  a  mild  form  of 
suspense.  Will  she  fall  a  victim  to  Van's  carefully  and  cleverly  executed  advances 
and  blot  her  sweet  maidenhood  with  dishonor?  Will  she  marry  Van  and  then, 
discovering  his  true  character,  reap  a  bitter  harvest  of  regret  as  a  result  of  her 
innocent  trust?  Or — then  comes  the  sub-title  spoken  by  Van  that  strikes  her  like 
a  blow  in  the  face :  "You  little  witch !  You  make  me  regret  that  I  am  not  a 
marrying  man."  Out  of  her  confiding  happiness  springs  the  sudden  realization  that 
Van  is  merely  toying  with  her  and  that  he  has  no  thought  of  an  engagement  or 
marriage  or  anything,  in  fact,  but  the  selfish  gratification  of  his  own  desires. 

29.  Frightened  and  bewildered,  Toni  pushes  away  from  him  and  runs  down  the 
stone  steps,  not  knowing  what  to  do  nor  where  to  go,  but  filled  with  the  one  thought 
of  getting  out  of  reach  of  the  man  whom  she  thought  was  honestly  in  love  with  her 
but  whom  she  suddenly  realizes  is  an  unclean  thing  that  has  brought  blushes  of  shame 
to  her  sweet  face. 

30.  In  scenes  115  to  120  we  alternately  see  Van  and  Toni.  We  have  been 
interested  in  the  little  sequence  of  which  both  appear,  and  now  we  follow  them  sep- 
arately through  these  few  scenes,  watching  the  effect  that  Van's  words  have  had  on 
Toni  and  that  her  sudden  departure  has  had  on  him.  While  Toni  is  hiding  her 
face  in  shame,  Van  is  standing  disappointed  and  angry  as  he  realizes  that  his  assump- 
tion that  Toni  was  willing  to  play  with  love  was  wrong  and  that  his  clever  plans 
have  gone  for  nothing. 

31.  In  scene  120  we  see  Samuel  for  a  moment  just  before  Toni  runs  into  the 
scene,  and  we  are  thus  reminded  that  he  also  loves  Toni.  This  little  glimpse  of 
Samuel  just  at  this  time,  when  Toni  is  seeking  solitude  after  having  abruptly  left 
Van,  brings  to  our  mind  the  possibility  that  he  may  yet  triumph  over  his  seeming 
rival  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Van  succeeded  in  temporarily  outwitting  him  in  the 
prearranged  accident  of  the  interrupted  performance. 

32.  This  little  sequence  alternates  with  the  scenes  of  Van  and  Toni  up  to  scene 
123,  when  the  butler  enters  the  conservatory  and  announces  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Dalton.  We  may  not  be  perfectly  sure  what  it  is  that  the  butler  is  saying  to  Van, 
but  a  sub-title  is  quite  unnecessary  as  in  the  following  scene  we  see  Mrs.  Dalton  waiting 
expectantly. 

33.  Again  we  have  a  little  touch  of  dramatic  suspense  in  scene  124  when  we  see 
Toni  quietly  enter  the  room  where  Mrs.  Dalton  is  standing.  Here  we  have  the 
woman  whom  Van  has  played  at  loving  and  cast  aside,  and  the  girl  who  has  just 
repelled  his  advances.  What  will  happen  if  they  meet  and  compare  notes?  The 
suspense  is  immediately  broken,  however,  for  Toni  hastily  exits,  unseen  by  Mrs. 
Dalton. 

34.  In  scene  125  Samuel  is  standing  in  the  background  as  Toni  enters,  though 
neither  sees  the  other.  There  is  a  certain  amount  of  tensity  of  an  effective  nature 
in  thus  bringing  these  principal  characters  into  such  close  proximity.  It  seems  inevi- 
table that  something  of  a  dramatic  nature  is  about  to  happen,  knowing  as  we  do  the 
relations  that  exist  between  them. 

A  DRAMATIC  SITUATION. 

35.  Then,  in  scene  128,  Toni  is  placed  in  the  awkward  position  of  desiring  to 
avoid  meeting  Van  and  to  endeavor  not  to  appear  to  be  eavesdropping,  and  on  the 
impulse  of  the  moment  she  hides  in  the  draperies  hanging  in  the  doorway,  just  as  Van 
enters  to  meet  Mrs.  Dalton.     Here,  indeed,  we  have  a  dramatic  situation.     Unavoid- 

120 


ably,  Toni  is  compelled  to  listen  to  the  conversation  that  ensues  between  Van  and 
Mrs.  Dalton. 

36.  In  scene  130,  Toni  furtively  peers  from  her  hiding  place  in  the  draperies 
seeking  a  chance  for  escape,  but  in  doing  so  she  sees  Samuel  standing  in  the  nearby 
doorway — thus  shutting  oS  her  only  means  of  egress. 

37.  Up  to  and  including  scene  141,  we  see  Toni  hidden  in  the  draperies  listening 
in  spite  of  herself  to  the  pleas  of  Mrs.  Dalton  and  Van's  caddish  repudiation.  All 
of  the  preceding  action  has  been  of  such  consecutive  interest  that  we  have  almost 
forgotten  Dalton,  when  in  scene  142  he  suddenly  appears,  having  been  ushered  into 
the  house  by  the  butler,  and  the  moment  he  enters  the  scene  he  starts  angrily  toward 
Van  and  Mrs.  Dalton. 

Remembering  that  he  was  searching  for  his  revolver  at  the  close  of  the  sequence 
of  scenes  in  his  house,  we  abruptly  come  face  to  face  with  the  possibility  of  tragedy. 
We  have  the  disgraced  wife  in  earnest  conversation  with  the  man  who  caused  hei 
downfall,  and  then  there  suddenly  appears  the  frantic  husband,  whom  we  have  every 
reason  to  believe  is  armed.  This  is  a  tense  and  highly  dramatic  situation  which  has 
grown  out  of  the  lesser  situation  which  preceded  it.  The  fact  that  Toni  was  listening 
perforce  to  the  conversation  between  Van  and  Mrs.  Dalton  and  learning  thereby  the 
whole  sordid  story  of  their  previous  relations,  increases  the  suspense  as  Dalton  ap- 
proaches Van,  and  Mrs.  Dalton,  sensing  approaching  tragedy,  sinks  limply  into  a  chair. 

ECONOMY  IN  SUB-TITLES. 

38.  In  scene  146  we  have  an  example  of  condensing  two  sub-titles  into  one. 
It  is  obviously  unnecessary  to  set  down  in  words  the  angry  accusation  that  Dalton 
addresses  to  Van,  for  in  the  latter's  reply,  "I  confess  I  made  some  pretty  speeches  to 
your  wife,"  etc.,  we  realize  the  burden  of  what  Dalton  has  said.  Van's  attitude  in 
this  scene  is  in  keeping  with  his  naturally  cold  poise.  With  every  reason  to  suspect 
that  Dalton  may  attempt  to  do  him  bodily  harm,  and  faced  by  Dalton's  threatening 
gesture,  Van  remains  calm,  merely  restraining  the  angry  husband  with  one  firm  hand. 

39.  As  this  sequence  of  scenes  progresses  we  are  given  a  glimpse  in  scene  153  of 
Samuel  in  his  dressing  room,  securing  his  coat  and  hat  as  he  is  about  to  make  his 
departure. 

40.  Returning  to  the  tense  scene  in  the  reception  hall,  we  see  Dalton  cast  aside 
the  woman  who  has  disgraced  his  name  and  assure  her  that  she  shall  have  the  freedom 
that  she  asked  for  in  scene  66.  This  occurs  after  Van  has  calmly  turned  his  back 
upon  the  Daltons  and  joined  the  merry  guests  in  the  drawing  room. 

41.  Much  of  the  suspense  that  has  preceded  this  point  in  the  story  has  depended 
upon  our  belief  that  Dalton  has  armed  himself  with  his  revolver  and  that  a  tragedy 
was  likely  to  occur.  It  might  be  argued  that  Dalton  was  dragged  into  the  story  merely 
for  the  sake  of  creating  this  suspense,  now  that  we  realize  that  he  has  gone  no  further 
than  making  a  threatening  gesture  at  Van.  Studying  the  characterization  of  Dalton, 
however,  we  realize  that  the  same  more  or  less  negative  personality  that  allowed  him 
to  permit  his  wife  to  drift  away  from  him  under  the  spell  of  Van's  persuasive  advances, 
has  weakened  in  this  crisis  and  that  Van's  cool  domination  of  the  situation  has  defeated 
whatever  intentions  Dalton  had  of  doing  him  a  physical  injur>',  or  perhaps  of  killing 
him.  Had  Dalton  been  the  dominating  character  of  the  two  men,  he  might  have  shot 
Van  and  our  story  would  have  ended  then  and  there  or  would  have  drifted  into  diftcr- 
ent  channels  and  reached  quite  another  climax  than  that  which  terminates  the  story 
in  its  present  form. 

42.  In  scene  156,  Samuel  finally  comes  to  the  point  of  bidding  Van  good-bye  and 
as  he  leaves  the  guests  show  signs  of  amusement  while  Van  is  unable  to  conceal  his 
triumphant  mirth.     As  Samuel  comes  out  of  the  house  to  depart  in  his  automobile, 

121 


Toni,  who  finally  managed  to  escape  from  her  hiding  place  in  the  draperies  in  scene 
149,  comes  down  the  steps,  and  despairing  of  getting  her  wrap  without  again  run- 
ning into  Van,  starts  to  leave  unaccompanied  for  home.  We  in  the  audience  have 
no  difficulty  in  guessing  her  state  of  mind. 

From  her  height  of  happiness  she  has  descended  into  the  gray  valley  of  disillusion- 
ment. The  man  that  she  was  beginning  to  love  and  whom  she  fondly  believed  loved 
her  has  turned  out  to  be  a  beast  in  her  eyes  for  not  only  have  his  actions  and  words 
in  her  presence  served  to  open  her  eyes,  but  the  scene  that  she  has  witnessed  between 
Van  and  the  Daltons  has  completed  her  realization  of  how  faithless  is  this  man  whom 
she  so  recently  looked  upon  as  a  very  desirable  future  husband.  In  her  innocence 
she  still  feels  a  touch  of  shame  as  she  thinks  of  the  stolen  kiss  and  the  matter-of-fact 
way  in  wliich  Van  drew  the  veil  from  his  real  intentions  and  allowed  her  to  know 
that  he  had  no  idea  of  anything  more  than  a  passing  "affair." 

RAPID   ACTION. 

43.  In  scenes  160  to  169,  inclusive — ten  scenes  and  two  sub-titles — the  action 
is  rapid  and  yet  how  much  of  vital  importance  to  the  progress  of  the  story  is  crowded 
into  it!  Toni  and  Samuel,  both  voluntary  fugitives  from  the  scene  of  their  recent 
humiliation,  are  thrown  together  in  a  perfectly  natural  way,  and  scarcely  before  either 
realizes  it,  they  are  being  whisked  away  in  Samuel's  automobile  to  be  married.  Right 
here  the  action  moves  at  almost  breathless  speed  and  yet  in  analyzing  it  the  motivation 
is  true  and  the  results  are  natural.  Toni  feels  that  she  is  facing  disgrace  in  having 
allowed  Van  to  kiss  her  under  such  circumstances  and  Samuel,  knowing  Van  as  he 
does  and  realizing  from  Toni's  actions  that  something  is  wrong,  senses  the  truth  and, 
being  deeply  in  love  with  Toni,  blurts  out  an  awkward  half-attempt  at  a  proposal. 

Toni  realizes  the  honesty  of  his  intentions,  and  although  she  does  not  love  him 
completely,  she  meets  him  half  way  with  the  question,  "Will  you  marry  me  tonight?" 
seeing  in  this  a  refuge  from  her  half  childish  idea  of  disgrace,  and  in  a  moment  they 
are  on  their  way  to  be  married.  In  this  sequence  of  scenes,  several  artistic  touches 
may  be  noted.  Instead  of  carrying  the  sequence  directly  through,  it  is  broken  up  with 
a  glimpse  of  Van,  debonair  and  brilliant,  laughing  and  talking  with  the  guests  about 
the  punch-bowl,  having  easily  dismissed  both  Mrs.  Dalton  and  Toni  from  his  mind, 
for  the  moment  at  least.  If  either  still  lingers  in  his  thoughts,  he  covers  his  emotions 
with  a  calm  and  well-balanced  attitude  of  gaiety. 

44.  In  contrast  to  this  and  to  Toni's  relief  at  finding  a  means  of  protection  in 
Samuel,  we  see  Mrs.  Dalton  making  her  faltering  way  out  of  the  Van  D'Arcy  home. 
The  contrast  is  admirably  handled  and  those  who  seek  lessons  in  screen  stories  have  no 
difficulty  in  finding  one  here.  The  pitiful  figure  of  Mrs.  Dalton  epitomizes  the  wages 
of  sin,  while  the  reward  of  virtue  may  be  summed  up  in  Toni's  acceptance  of  the 
refuge  offered  by  Samuel. 

45.  In  the  portion  of  scene  168,  which  follows  the  spoken  sub-title,  we  see  Samuel 
put  his  arm  around  Toni,  upon  which  she  gently  pushes  him  away.  How  expressive 
this  action  is!  While  she  knows  Samuel  to  be  faithful  and  true,  she  has  not  yet  given 
him  her  whole-hearted  love,  and  they  are  not  yet  married.  Still  smarting  from  the 
experience  with  Van,  she  instinctively  avoids  Samuel's  little  caress  and  scampers  un- 
aided into  the  car.  As  the  chauffeur  drives  them  out  of  the  scene,  it  fades  out.  This 
may  be  regarded  as  the  finish  of  the  first  part  or  the  beginning  of  the  story,  which,  as  is 
pointed  out  in  another  chapter,  may  be  divided  into  three  parts — the  beginning,  the 
middle,  and  the  end. 

FROM  "beginning"  TO  "MIDDLE." 

46.  From  scenes  100  to  169,  inclusive,  we  have  the  beginning.  We  are  now 
well  acquainted  with  our  characters  and  we  know  all  of  their  history  that  is  necessary 
to  the  remainder  of  the  story,  yet  we  have  not  been  bored  for  a  moment  with  useless 

122 


description.  Every  sequence  and  every  scene  has  been  interesting  and  there  has  been 
constant  action.  Only  twenty-four  sub-titles  have  been  necessary  throughout  the  one 
hundred  sixty-nine  scenes. 

Firmly  established  in  our  mind,  is  the  fact  that  Van  is  our  villain,  Samuel  our 
hero,  and  Toni  our  heroine.  We  know  this  not  merely  because  we  have  been  told  so 
in  sub-titles,  but  through  the  individual  characteristics  that  have  been  brought  out  in 
the  action  itself.  "By  their  deeds  shall  ye  know  them" — and  we  know  Samuel  and 
Toni  and  Van,  not  from  what  has  been  told  us  in  pages  of  description  as  would  be 
the  case  in  a  novel ;  not  from  listening  to  profuse  dialogue  as  we  would  be  compelled 
to  do  in  witnessing  a  presentation  of  a  spoken  drama,  but  from  what  we  have  seen 
them  do — from  their  deeds — from  their  action. 

USE  OF  THE  INSERT. 

47.  Passing  on  to  what  may  be  regarded  as  the  middle  portion  of  the  story,  we 
bridge  with  a  sub-title  the  first  elapse  of  time  that  has  appeared.  This  sub-title  fades 
into  the  insert  of  a  newspaper  item.  The  sub-title  tells  us  that  we  are  now  dealing 
with  action  that  takes  place  "some  time  later."  It  is  not  necessary  to  know  how  much 
time  has  passed — it  may  be  a  few  weeks  or  several  months.  The  newspaper  insert  in 
scene  172,  tells  us  that  it  is  several  months,  thus  giving  a  definite  quality  to  the  elapse 
of  time. 

The  newspaper  insert  in  scene  1 70  informs  us  of  the  fact  that  the  Daltons  are 
being  divorced  and  that  Van  is  named  as  co-respondent.  No  doubt  is  left  in  our 
minds  as  to  whom  the  mention  of  a  "wealthy  bachelor"  refers,  when  in  scene  171,  we 
see  Van  reading  the  article  that  is  shown  in  the  insert.  His  ej'es  move  to  another  por- 
tion of  the  paper  and  what  he  sees  is  shown  in  the  insert  that  is  numbered  scene  172. 
Here  we  learn  of  the  honeymoon  that  followed  the  elopment  of  Toni  and  Samuel,  and 
we  gain  the  information  that  they  have  settled  down  in  their  new  home. 

48.  In  scene  173,  we  find  Van  pondering  over  the  two  items,  and  being  alone 
he  allows  himself  to  become  peevish  for  the  moment. 

49.  Scene  174  enlightens  us  as  to  the  fate  of  Mrs.  Dalton,  when  we  see  her  seated 
with  a  sportily  dressed  man  drinking  cocktails  on  a  country  club  veranda.  We  do  not 
know  who  the  man  is  for  he  is  never  introduced  in  the  story  and  we  only  see  him  a  few 
times,  but  Mrs.  Dal  ton's  presence  with  a  man  of  this  type  tells  the  story  better  than 
any  sub-title  could,  the  scene  coming  as  it  does  so  quickly  after  the  newspaper  item, 
which  mentions  the  divorce. 

50.  In  the  following  few  scenes  we  find  Samuel  and  Toni  in  their  new  home 
and  we  see  him  surprise  her  with  the  gift  of  a  pet  dog.  Almost  boyishly  happy  over 
the  way  his  gift  is  received,  he  starts  to  leave  for  his  office. 

EXPRESSIVE  ACTION. 

51.  In  scene  179,  we  have  another  little  touch  of  action  that  is  exceedingly 
expressive.  When  Samuel  kisses  Toni's  hand  and  then  her  cheek,  it  is  obvious  that 
true-hearted,  timid  Samuel  has  won  the  confidence  and  respect  of  his  little  wife  rather 
than  the  abandon  of  her  limitless  love. 

52.  Behold  how  all  the  threads  of  the  story  are  picked  up  in  these  few  scenes 
following  the  lapse  of  time.  From  scenes  171  to  178,  inclusive,  we  have  renewed  our 
visual  acquaintance  with  Van,  Mrs.  Dalton,  Samuel  and  Toni,  and  in  the  cases  of  the 
latter  three,  we  have  found  them  in  their  new  environment.  Every  bit  of  action  m 
these  scenes  has  meant  something  to  us.  Van,  peevishly  throwing  down  the  paper 
after  reading  of  the  honeymoon  of  Toni  and  Samuel,  tells  us  plainer  than  any  words 
of  his  disgust  at  having  lost  Toni  when  she  was  almost  within  his  eager  grasp.  We 
know  that  Mrs.  Dalton  is  "going  to  the  devil"  and  we  see  Samuel  doing  his  best  to 
please  Toni  and  win  her  love  in  its  completeness. 

53.  In  scene  180  Toni  asks  Samuel  to  send  the  car  back  for  her.     As  soon  as 

123 


Samuel  has  gone  and  the  maid  has  left  the  room,  Toni  furtively  looks  around  and  then 
goes  to  the  telephone  and  rings  up  a  number. 

54.  Scene  184  comes  to  us  in  the  nature  of  a  shock  for  we  see  Van  answer  the 
telephone  and  we  know  that  Toni  is  calling  him.  Does  she  really  love  him  instead 
of  Samuel?  Has  she  been  carrying  on  a  flirtation  with  him  in  spite  of  her  recent  mar- 
riage? These  questions  crowd  into  our  minds  and  we  are  filled  with  amazement  at 
this  sudden  turn  of  events. 

55.  In  scene  185  Toni  is  obviously  flirting,  and  in  scene  186  Van  is  filled  with 
delight.  The  latter  part  of  the  continuity  description  of  scene  186  tells  us  that  Toni 
is  really  planning  to  lead  him  on  and  then  to  humiliate  and  disappoint  him.  This  was 
included  in  the  manuscript  in  its  original  form  by  Miss  Weber  for  her  own  guidance, 
but  as  the  scene  appeared  upon  the  screen  the  audience  received  no  such  explanation 
and  was  left  to  draw  its  own  conclusion. 

56.  As  the  telephone  flirtation  progresses  we  observe  Toni  in  scene  191  enlight- 
ening us  as  to  her  motive  in  asking  Samuel  to  send  the  car  back  for  her  when  she  tells 
Van  that  she  will  be  driving  in  the  park  in  half  an  hour.  Van  naturally  believes  that 
in  her  increased  sophistication  she  is  prepared  to  surrender,  and  the  audience  at  this 
point  is  inclined  to  reluctantly  agree  with  him. 

TIME  LAPSE  WITHOUT  SUB-TITLE 

57.  In  scene  194  the  telephone  conversation  is  terminated  and  the  scene  fades 
out.  It  is  perceived  that  the  short  lapse  of  time  between  this  point  and  the  arrival  of 
Van  in  the  park  is  covered  by  a  fade-out  rather  than  a  sub-title.  We  have  just  seen 
Van  and  Toni  making  the  engagement  to  meet  in  the  park,  and  after  the  short  lapse 
we  see  Van  driving  up  and  alighting  from  his  car — hence  a  sub-title  would  be  super- 
fluous and  the  fade-out  is  all  that  is  necessary. 

58.  Scenes  195  to  200,  inclusive,  need  no  comment. 

59.  In  scene  201  we  see  Toni  stealthily  write  a  note  while  Van's  back  is  turned, 
and  in  the  manuscript  appears  the  director's  information  as  to  what  the  note  contains, 
but  as  the  picture  was  exhibited  the  audience  was  left  to  guess  at  the  contents  until  later 
revealed.  Therefore,  assuming  that  we  are  sitting  in  a  theatre  watching  the  projec- 
tion of  the  picture  we  still  wonder  at  Toni  as  she  hands  the  note  to  her  footman  and 
joins  Van  in  his  car. 

60.  Between  scenes  205  and  206  we  have  another  example  of  a  short  elapse  of 
time,  which  is  bridged  with  a  fade-out  instead  of  a  sub-title.  Arriving  at  the  country 
club,  Van  and  Toni  abruptly  meet  Mrs.  Dalton  and  her  sporty  escort,  and  we  have 
a  mingled  feeling  of  pity  and  admiration  for  Mrs.  Dalton  as  she  warns  Toni  against 
Van  in  a  friendly  manner. 

A  REVELATION. 

61.  The  action  proceeds  uneventfully  until  scene  218,  when  we  see  the  footman 
deliver  Toni's  note  to  Samuel,  and  in  the  insert,  numbered  scene  219,  we  join  him  in 
reading,  "Having  tea  at  the  Club.  Call  for  me.  Toni."  At  this  point  our  eyes  are 
open  to  the  fact  that  Toni  is  not  a  faithless  wife  but  that  she  is  playing  a  game  with 
Van  as  her  prospective  victim  and  fully  protecting  herself  in  the  playing.  Upon  the 
arrival  of  the  footman,  Samuel  is  immersed  in  the  details  of  his  business,  but  acting 
upon  Toni's  command  he  drops  everything  and  makes  haste  to  obey,  while  his  clerk 
laughs  sympathetically  in  his  realization  of  how  completely  Samuel  is  in  love  with 
his  bride. 

62.  In  scene  221,  Van's  words  expressed  in  sub-title  30  indicate  that  he  is 
blindly  falling  into  the  trap  that  Toni  is  setting  for  him.  It  will  be  noted  that  when 
Samuel  leaves  the  interior  of  his  office,  the  action  cuts  to  Toni  and  Van  at  the  coun- 
try club  long  enough  to  allow  Samuel  to  pass  through  the  corridors  of  the  building, 

124 


descend  in  the  elevator  and  reach  the  street,  where  in  scene  222  we  see  him  come  out 
of  the  building,  get  into  his  car  and  drive  away.  Returning  to  the  Club,  we  witness 
Toni  and  Van  continuing  their  flirtation,  and  we  see  Toni  tentatively  accepting  Van's 
invitation  to  join  him  in  a  tete-a-tete  dinner.  Realizing  as  we  now  do,  since  the  con- 
tents of  Toni's  note  is  known  to  us,  that  she  is  playing  a  game  with  Van,  we  have 
ceased  to  be  apprehensive  for  her  safety  and  are  wondering  just  what  she  is' planning. 

63.  This  little  sequence  between  Toni  and  Van  at  the  Club  sufficed  to  give 
Samuel  time  to  arrive  from  the  office,  and  in  scene  224  we  see  him  drive  up  and 
alight  from  his  car.  In  scene  230  Van  is  the  first  to  see  Samuel,  and  we  rejoice  at  his 
ill-concealed  annoyance.  Toni  consoles  him,  however,  with  the  statement  that  she 
will  be  alone  that  night  as  Samuel  has  a  Board  meeting,  and  Van  takes  new  courage. 

UNITY  OF  ACTION. 

64.  Let  us  pause  to  note  that  we  have  had  sixty  scenes  since  the  sub-title 
which  terminated  the  "beginning"  of  our  story  and  started  the  "middle"  at  scene  170, 
and  every  bit  of  action  in  those  sixty  scenes  has  been  interesting,  consecutive,  and  filled 
with  definite  meaning.  Not  a  moment  has  been  wasted  with  any  useless  or  extraneous 
matter  and  no  unnecessarj'  characters  have  been  introduced.  From  the  very  beginning 
of  the  story  our  attention  has  been  held  and  the  growth  of  the  story  has  been  logical 
and  natural. 

The  characterizations  have  been  consistent  from  the  very  start.  In  every  action 
Samuel  is  the  sincere,  likable,  wholesome  man,  very  much  in  love  with  Toni,  while 
Van  is  the  conscienceless  seeker  after  whatever  fascinating  feminine  prey  comes  into 
his  clutches,  regardless  of  the  ties  of  marriage  or  the  conventions  of  respectability. 
Toni,  still  good  and  sincerely  faithful  to  her  husband,  begins  to  indicate  that  while 
she  is  pure  and  innocent,  she  is  possessed  of  quicker  brains  and  sharper  wits  than  we 
at  first  realized,  and  our  interest  in  her  increases  as  the  action  of  the  story  proceeds. 

65.  The  club  house  sequence  closes  with  scene  234,  and  the  lapse  of  time  to 
that  night  is  covered  with  a  sub-title  as  well  as  a  fade-in  and  a  fade-out.  The  sub- 
title is  utilized  to  convey  the  information  that  Toni's  plan  is  to  humiliate  Van  in 
retaliation  for  the  insult  that  he  offered  on  the  night  of  the  play  at  his  home.  We  have  ■ 
had  ample  time  to  suspect  it,  but  the  sub-title  leaves  no  room  for  doubt.  We  also 
realize  now  that  Samuel  is  less  an  object  of  Toni's  genuine  love  than  he  is  a  pawn  in 
her  careful  plans  to  obtain  revenge  from  Van. 

VALUE  OF  MOTIVE. 

66.  In  scene  235  Van  arrives  for  his  evening  call  just  as  Samuel  is  about  to 
leave,  and  Toni,  wrapped  up  in  the  game  that  she  is  playing,  indulges  in  a  little  mock 
insincerity  for  Van's  benefit  when  she  speaks  sub-title  34.  Then  while  Van  is  impa- 
tiently awaiting  the  departure  of  the  innocently  affable  Samuel,  Toni  arranges  to 
further  tantalize  Van  by  quietly  telephoning  to  her  mother  to  drop  in  as  though  by 
accident  and  interrupt  what  Van  hoped  to  be  an  evening  quite  alone  with  Toni.  The 
mother  is  a  minor  character,  appearing  in  only  a  handful  of  scenes  throughout  the 
entire  story,  and  yet  it  will  be  noticed  how  useful  she  is  when  she  does  appear.  Thus 
it  will  be  seen  that  there  must  be  a  real  reason  for  introducing  any  character,  major 
or  minor,  and  there  must  be  a  wholly  plausible  motive  back  of  every  action  that  each 
character  performs. 

At  the  country  club,  Toni  sent  for  Samuel  to  interrupt  her  meeting  with  Van, 
and  this  time  to  avoid  suspicion  on  Van's  part  and  to  vary  the  interruptions,  the  most 
natural  person  for  her  to  summon  is  her  mother.  We  see  the  mother  put  down  the 
telephone  and  prepare  to  leave  the  house  in  scene  244,  and  then  we  have  two  scenes 
showing  Toni,  Van  and  Samuel,  thus  giving  the  mother  time  to  leave  the  house  and 
drive  away  in  her  car  in  scene  247. 

12S 


The  sequence  that  follows,  running  to  and  including  259,  allows  ample  time  for 
the  mother  to  drive  from  her  home  to  that  of  Toni's.  During  this  sequence  Toni 
leads  Van  on  as  far  as  she  dares  and  then  excuses  herself  in  order  to  go  to  her  boudoir 
and  anxiously  peer  out  of  the  window  to  assure  herself  that  her  mother  is  coming, 
although  supposedly  preparing  for  a  moonlight  drive.  As  Toni  sees  the  car  approach- 
ing, she  feels  that  it  is  safe  to  return  to  Van,  who  is  impatiently  waiting  for  Toni  to 
join  him.  To  make  her  deception  complete,  Toni  allows  her  maid  to  help  her  on 
with  a  coat  and  then  times  her  descent  of  the  stairs  so  that  she  will  meet  Van  just 
before  her  mother  enters.     Again  Van  is  plunged  into  angry  disappointment. 

67.  Sub-title  38  covers  an  indefinite  lapse  of  time  and  reveals  that  Van  now 
sees  through  Toni's  game  and  is  more  than  ever  desirous  of  her.  According  to  some 
of  the  careless  old-time  methods,  this  sub-title  might  have  read,  "Two  weeks  later," 
or  something  to  that  eiifect.  Where  no  specific  length  of  time  need  be  mentioned  a  title 
of  this  kind,  hinting  at  the  passage  of  an  indefinite  lapse  of  time  and  conveying 
simultaneously  a  bit  of  information,  is  far  more  desirable. 

DOUBT    BEGETS    SUSPENSE. 

68.  In  scene  268,  we  find  Van  unable  to  dismiss  Toni  from  his  thought,  and  in 
the  little  sequence  that  follows,  we  see  him  telephone  to  her  and  propose  an  adventur- 
ous little  drive.  Toni's  reply  to  his  suggestion  is  not  expressed  in  a  sub-title  as  we 
see  her  laughingly  nod  her  head  in  assent  as  she  speaks  to  him.  Her  acceptance  is 
obviously  shown  in  the  action.  Knowing  now  that  Van  has  seen  through  Toni's 
game,  and  being  well  aware  of  his  cleverness  and  lack  of  scruples,  we  anticipate  a  two- 
sided  battle  of  wits  and  we  uneasily  contemplate  the  possibility  of  eventual  triumph 
on  Van's  part. 

What  could  be  more  natural  then  than  to  cut  to  Samuel  in  his  office  in  scene  286. 
This  manipulation  of  action  is  founded  on  two  reasons.  One  is  to  show  us  that 
Samuel  is  at  his  office,  thus  leaving  Toni  at  home  to  carry  out  her  plan,  and  it  also 
allows  us  to  peek  in  and  witness  Samuel's  loving  worship  of  Toni's  pictures,  two  of 
which  are  on  his  desk.  So  far  as  the  mechanics  of  continuity  construction  are  con- 
cerned, the  little  sequence  in  Samuel's  office  is  introduced  to  allow  Van  time  to  drive 
from  his  home  to  Samuel's  residence,  where  he  arrives  in  scene  292. 

69.  In  scenes  293,  294  and  295  we  see  Toni  and  Van  start  away  on  their  drive 
and  then  we  have  a  fade-out  and  a  fade-in  to  scene  296  in  order  to  cover  the  brief 
lapse  of  time  that  allows  them  to  reach  the  open  suburban  country. 

70.  Scene  296  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  Toni  and  Van  in  a  long-shot  across  coun- 
try and  is  introduced  in  order  to  show  that  they  are  covering  a  considerable  distance 
on  an  unfrequented  road.  Owing  to  a  misprint  in  the  continuity  manuscript,  the 
words  "fade-out"  were  omitted  and  should  have  appeared  after  scene  296,  as  they  do 
after  scene  295.  The  action  fades  into  and  fades  out  of  scene  296  to  denote  a  brief 
lapse  of  time  before  and  after  this  glimpse  of  Toni  and  Van  in  the  automobile. 

71.  We  fade  into  scene  297  and  find  them  driving  through  a  rough  woodland 
road,  well  out  into  the  country.  As  this  sequence  proceeds,  we  find  Van  declaring 
himself  and  telling  Toni  that  he  realizes  she  has  been  making  a  fool  of  him  and  that 
he  has  planned  this  drive  with  its  secret  destination  so  that  she  will  be  unable  to  sum- 
mon her  husband  and  mother  to  "spoil  the  party."  While  Toni  remains  cool  and 
smiling,  we  commence  to  feel  more  uneasy  for  her  safety  and  to  wonder  if  she  has  not 
overstepped  herself  in  accompanying  him  on  this  unconventional  little  trip.  With 
this  first  feeling  of  apprehension,  the  element  of  suspense  starts  to  appear  again.  The 
car  stops  and  Van  gets  out  and  disconnects  something  in  the  engine,  smiling  with  sat- 
isfaction to  know  that  at  last  he  has  Toni  alone  and  helpless. 

126 


CLEVER  PHOTOGRAPHY. 

72.  In  scene  312  we  have  a  clever  bit  of  photography.  In  order  to  include  both 
Van  and  Toni  in  a  close-up  while  she  is  seated  in  the  automobile  and  he  is  out  put- 
tering with  the  engine,  Toni's  face  is  shown  reflected  in  the  mirror  at  the  side  of  the 
car.  This  permits  the  close-up  view  of  the  expression  on  both  faces  without  the  neces- 
sity of  Toni  leaving  her  seat  in  the  car  while  Van  is  standing  at  the  side  of  the  en- 
gine's hood.  As  the  sequence  proceeds  up  to  and  including  scene  320,  the  suspense  in- 
creases and  there  is  no  apparent  escape  for  Toni  from  what  appears  to  be  a  hopelessly 
compromising  position. 

73.  Blending  sub-titles  42,  43  and  44,  we  see  Van  triumphantly  informing  Toni 
that  they  are  miles  from  a  traveled  road;  that  the  engine  of  his  car  is  out  of  commis- 
sion, and  that  the  nearest  habitation  is  an  ill-famed  roadhouse.  As  the  suspense  and 
our  anxiety  for  Toni's  safety  reach  their  height  the  situation  is  relieved  by  Toni's 
announcement  in  sub-title  45  that  one  of  her  cars  is  following  them,  and  as  Van  looks 
around  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  the  truth  of  her  statement,  we  see  Toni's  big  touring 
car  approaching  in  scene  324.  As  this  sequence  progresses  to  scene  336,  we  see  Van 
again  ignominiously  defeated,  and  we  leave  him  helpless  and  angry  as  Toni  smilingly 
drives  away. 

74.  Sub-title  47  serves  to  bridge  another  short  indefinite  lapse  of  time  and  to 
inform  us  that  the  duel  of  wits  is  becoming  more  intense  than  ever.  Scene  337  follows 
the  time  lapse  which  may  have  been  over  night,  a  few  days,  or  a  few  weeks.  The 
duration  is  of  no  consequence.  We  find  Van,  Toni,  and  Samuel  enjoying  their  after- 
dinner  coffee  in  front  of  a  fireplace  in  the  latter's  residence.  Immediately  we  begin  to 
feel  a  little  touch  of  mild  suspense,  having  been  prepared  in  sub-title  47  for  a  continua- 
tion of  the  carefully  played  game  between  Van  and  Toni. 

Having  our  three  principal  characters  in  one  group  there  is  no  important  action 
to  cut  away  to — therefore,  the  sequence  is  broken  up  with  alternate  long-shots  and 
close-ups.  In  order  to  avoid  the  monotony  of  one  lengthy  sustained  scene,  it  is,  as  a 
rule,  quite  undesirable  to  allow  all  of  the  principal  characters  in  a  story  to  be  grouped 
together  in  this  manner,  as  it  eliminates  the  possibility  of  cutting  from  one  to  another, 
in  order  to  move  the  action  along  in  a  smooth  and  interesting  manner. 

This  condition  is  not  allowed  to  exist  long  here,  however,  for  Samuel  rises  and 
starts  to  leave  the  room  in  order  to  get  some  cigars  which  he  wishes  Van  to  try. 
What  Samuel  is  about  to  do  is  not  told  in  a  sub-title,  as  it  is  of  no  paricular  impor- 
tance and  is  only  introduced  in  order  to  take  him  from  the  room  in  a  natural  manner 
so  as  to  permit  a  sequence  between  Toni  and  Van. 

KEEN  SUSPENSE. 

75.  In  sub-titles  48  and  49,  we  have  an  example  of  two  spoken  titles  inserted  in 
one  scene.  The  words  spoken  by  Van  are  quite  consistent  with  his  usual  bold  methods 
of  procedure,  and  in  the  sequence  that  follows,  we  have  rather  a  tense  situation.  Van, 
taking  advantage  of  the  opportunity  and  smarting  under  the  little  series  of  defeats, 
embraces  Toni  and  passionately  kisses  her.  Desiring  to  play  the  game  to  the  finish 
unaided,  she  docs  not  call  Samuel,  but  angrily  pushes  away  from  Van  and  momentarily 
loses  her  self-possession,  raging  at  him  in  half  suppressed  fur)'. 

Alternating  the  scenes  between  Toni  and  Van  with  cuts  of  Samuel  returning  with 
his  cigars,  we  are  kept  on  the  keen  edge  of  suspense,  as  in  scene  349  Van  again  kisses 
Toni  while  Samuel  is  almost  upon  them.  We  breathlessly  wonder  what  will  happen 
if  Samuel  enters  and  finds  Toni  in  the  embrace  of  Van.  He  good-naturedly  follows 
Van's  instructions,  however,  and  heralds  his  approach  with  plenty  of  noise.  Again  a 
situation  is  relieved  and  we  see  Van,  Toni,  and  Samuel  seated  together,  yet  we  feel 
the  tensity  of  the  emotions  that  are  being  experienced  by  Toni  and  Van. 

127 


Samuel,  as  usual,  is  good-naturedly  unsuspecting.  Then  Van  produces  the  invita- 
tion which  is  shown  in  a  printed  insert  in  scene  360  and  announces  to  Samuel  that  it 
is  to  be  a  stag  affair  and  that  only  husbands  have  been  invited.  He  adds  that  he  is 
particularly  desirous  of  having  Samuel's  criticism  of  this  latest  little  play  that  he  has 
written. 

Instinctively  we  know  that  under  the  surface  of  this  polite  invitation  lies  some 
ingenious  scheme  on  Van's  part,  and  being  aware  of  his  unscrupulous  desire  to  possess 
Toni  and  of  the  limits  to  which  he  is  willing  to  go,  we  again  begin  to  feel  the  slowly 
increasing  pressure  of  suspense. 

FROM   "middle"  to  "END." 

76.  As  scene  362  fades  out  we  have  reached  the  end  of  the  middle  portion  of 
our  play.  The  first  part  terminating  with  scene  169,  introduced  the  characters  and 
thoroughly  established  their  relations,  arousing  at  the  same  time  our  curiosity  and 
interest.  The  second  part,  or  middle  of  our  story,  which  closes  with  scene  362,  has 
carried  forward  the  conflict  between  Toni  and  Van  to  the  point  where  we  know  that 
the  final  crisis  or  climax  is  impending.  We  know  that  "something  is  going  to  happen" 
and  there  is  an  inclination  mentally  to  grasp  at  a  number  of  vague  possibilities.  There 
is  no  time  for  a  definite  reasoning,  however,  as  the  action  moves  forward  in  so  consecu- 
tive a  manner  that  we  are  compelled  to  follow  it  closely. 

77.  Sub-title  54  covers  a  short,  indefinite  lapse  of  time  up  to  the  evening  of  the 
play  that  Van  is  giving  "For  Husbands  Only."  In  scene  363,  we  find  Toni  in  her 
boudoir  knitting  uneasily  and  evidencing  a  premonition  of  trouble.  Her  emotions  are 
quite  in  tune  with  those  of  the  audience  at  this  point  for,  to  have  closely  followed  the 
action  of  our  play  up  to  this  point,  inevitably  brings  us  to  the  anticipation  of  a  crisis. 

Quite  naturally  Toni's  mind  reverts  to  the  events  of  the  night  of  Van's  last  play 
when  she  and  Samuel  eloped,  and  she  goes  to  her  dresser  and  picks  up  the  programme 
of  the  performance  in  which  Samuel  made  his  awkward  failure.  As  she  looks  at  the 
programme  which  is  shown  in  the  insert  numbered  scene  366,  her  thoughts  drift  back 
to  the  part  she  played,  and  we  follow  her  reminiscence  as  the  words  of  the  programme 
dissolve  into  a  close-up  of  Toni  in  the  costume  of  Sally  and  then  fades  back  into  the 
printed  page  again. 

SUSTAINED   SUSPENSE. 

78.  As  she  is  standing  in  solitary  reminiscence  we  see  Van  enter  the  librarj' 
downstairs  in  scene  368.  It  is  unnecessary  to  see  him  arrive  outside  of  the  house  as 
we  see  a  suitcase  in  his  hand  and  therefore  immediately  grasp  the  fact  that  he  has  just 
arrived  at  the  house.  Our  sudden  sight  of  Van  here  quickens  our  suspense.  What  is 
he  doing  in  Samuel's  house  on  this  night  when  Samuel  is  attending  his  play?  Surely 
his  presence  bodes  no  good.  The  action  cuts  to  a  close-up  of  Toni  in  scene  369,  which 
allows  sufficient  time  for  the  maid,  to  whom  Van  has  announced  his  presence  in  scene 
386,  to  ascend  the  stairs  and  enter  Toni's  boudoir  in  scene  370.  As  the  maid  an- 
nounces Van's  presence  downstairs,  Toni  is  quite  as  startled  as  we  in  the  audience  were 
when  we  saw  him  enter.  We  see  Van  standing  cool  and  smiling  in  scene  371,  and  then 
returning  to  Toni  we  see  her  suddenly  awaken  to  the  fact  that  she  cares  more  for 
Samuel  than  she  has  ever  yet  realized. 

79.  Van's  presence  at  this  time  can  mean  only  one  thing — something  has  hap- 
pened to  Samuel !  Frantically  she  rushes  out  of  this  scene  and  downstairs  to  where 
Van  is  waiting.  His  words,  spoken  in  sub-title  56,  quiet  her  fears  as  to  Samuel's  safety, 
but  at  the  same  time  arouse  her  suspicion.  In  scene  376  we  have  an  example  of 
the  use  of  the  "pan"  or  "panoram,"  to  use  studio  vernacular — the  practice  of  slowly 

128 


turning  the  camera  on  its  base  at  the  apex  of  the  tripod  in  order  to  follow  the  char- 
acters as  they  move  from  one  point  to  another. 

Instead  of  seeing  Van  and  Toni  walk  out  of  one  scene  and  then  into  another,  we 
follow  them  without  any  break  in  the  scene.  As  the  two  seat  themselves  in  the 
library  Van  starts  to  explain  what  has  happened  at  his  "For  Husbands  Only"  per- 
formance. We  see  him  start  to  speak  and  we  read  his  words.  "To  begin  with,  I 
seated  your  husband  comfortably  in  the  front  row,  where  he  would  miss  nothing," 
and  then  we  pass  on  to  the  action  which  he  is  describing. 

A    PLAY   WITHIN    A    PLAY. 

80.  In  scene  380  we  follow  visually  what  Van  is  verbally  conveying  to  Toni. 
We  see  Van  seat  Samuel  in  the  front  row  of  the  audience  "where  he  would  miss 
nothing,"  and  as  the  action  proceeds  we  see  the  curtain  rise  on  the  performance,  reveal- 
ing Folly  seated  on  the  stage.  She  is  carelessly  playing  with  her  jewels  when  she  rises 
just  as  the  Clown  enters  and  speaks  to  her.  The  action  continues  to  scene  387,  where 
it  fades  into  the  scene  of  Toni  and  Van  in  the  library.  As  he  speaks  sub-title  58,  we 
begin  to  realize  the  motive  that  prompted  him  to  produce  his  play,  largely  for  Samuel's 
benefit.  His  explanation  that  "we  learn  that  Folly  has  wed  with  riches,  although 
secretly  retaining  her  lover,  Harlequin,"  reveals  to  us  that  in  the  characters  of  his 
play  he  is  reproducing  for  Samuel's  benefit,  Toni,  Samuel  and  himself.  Folly  repre- 
senting Toni,  Harlequin  standing  for  Van,  and  the  Clown  typifying  Samuel. 

81.  Toni  does  not  yet  realize  the  full  import  of  the  satire,  however,  and  while 
she  appears  greatly  bored.  Van  smokes  and  smiles  and  then  continues  his  story  of  the 
play,  his  words  continuing  to  be  visually  presented  to  us  in  scenes  389,  390  and  391. 
In  scene  392  we  see  Van  seated  beside  Toni,  recounting  what  has  happened  during  the 
opening  of  his  play  and  explaining  to  her  its  complete  story,  which  is  being  enacted 
before  the  audience  of  which  Samuel  is  a  member,  while  Van,  who  has  stolen  away  to 
meet  Toni,  continues  his  tale.  The  mephistophelean  cunning  with  which  he  has 
planned  to  arouse  the  suspicions  of  Samuel  and  turn  him  against  Toni  develops  as 
scene  after  scene  of  his  play  is  reviewed. 

82.  In  scene  391  we  see  Harlequin,  who  represents  Van,  reading  the  note  which 
is  a  paraphase  of  the  message  that  Toni  sent  to  Samuel  on  the  day  that  she  visited  the 
country  club  with  Van. 

83.  In  sub-title  60  we  see  how  Van  has  distorted  the  real  truth  for  he  has 
Folly,  who  represents  Toni,  saying,  "My  frankness  will  disarm  him  and  we  will 
have  plenty  of  time  to  stop  at  your  country  house  on  the  way."  In  scene  392  the 
truth  begins  to  dawn  on  Toni  as  Van  slyly  watches  the  effect  of  his  account  of  his 
play  on  her.  Gradually  through  this  sequence  we  see  how  Van  has  misrepresented 
the  incidents  of  Samuel's  evening  at  the  Board  meeting,  as  well  as  what  took  place  on 
the  evening  that  Samuel  left  the  room  to  get  the  box  of  cigars.  As  Van  proceeds  in 
his  carefully  detailed  explanation  of  the  scenes  in  his  play,  Toni  becomes  more  and 
more  agitated  until  in  sub-title  66,  she  realizes  that  Samuel  could  not  fail  to  recognize 
these  treacherously  turned  scenes. 

The  sequence  proceeds,  and  in  sub-title  67,  Toni,  crushed  and  despairing,  real- 
izes that  "Dear,  trusting  Samuel  would  be  seeing  himself  as  their  dupe  and  would  be 
loathing  her  as  something  unclean."  She  no  longer  regards  her  husband  as  .-i  mere 
pawn  in  her  game,  but  instead  begins  to  realize  that  she  is  really  very  much  in  love 
with  him  and  that  now  it  is  probably  too  late.  As  Van  smiles  cynically,  Toni  sobs  in 
her  despairing  grief. 

APPROACHING   THE    CLIMAX. 

84.  In  scene  417  the  play  at  Van's  private  theatre  ends  and  Samuel  rises  and  hur- 
riedly exits.     Here  the  final  suspense  leading  to  the  climax  begins. 

129 


85.  In  scene  419  we  see  Samuel  drive  away  from  Van's  residence,  and  we  know 
that  he  is  making  haste  to  return  to  his  home  and  face  Toni.  In  scene  420,  Van,  hav- 
ing prepared  the  way,  plays  his  high  trump  when  he  says,  "You  see  I  have  forced  your 
hand.  You  had  better  come  away  with  me  before  Samuel  returns  and  orders  you 
out."  As  Toni  continues  to  sob  pitifully,  Van  brings  every  pressure  of  argument  to 
bear  in  his  attempt  to  secure  Toni's  assent  to  an  immediate  elopement.  The  suspense 
approaches  the  height  of  tensity  when,  in  scene  421,  Samuel  arrives  at  the  exterior  of 
his  house. 

86.  In  scene  422  Toni,  filled  with  a  new  realization  of  her  love  for  Samuel  and 
with  detestation  for  Van's  duplicity,  cries  out:  "One  Samuel  in  this  world  is  worth  a 
thousand  men  like  you.  Even  if  he  hates  me,  I  am  safer  in  his  hands  than  in  yours." 
There  is  a  desperation  of  the  wounded  and  cornered  animal  in  this  frantic  outburst. 
Van,  undeterred,  starts  to  put  his  arm  around  her  when  he  hears  footsteps  and  draws 
back.  Instinctively  he  knows  it  is  Samuel  who  enters  the  reception  hall  in  scene  423. 
Observe  how  the  suspense  is  sustained  in  the  alternation  of  scenes  up  to  427,  during 
which  we  see  Samuel  gradually  approaching  until  he  finally  walks  into  the  scene  and 
removes  his  hat,  appearing  startled  at  seeing  Van. 

The  latter,  maintaining  his  habitual  cool  and  collected  demeanor,  suavely  says, 
"I  thought  you  might  wish  to  talk  over  my  play  with  me."  Under  this  surface  of 
polite  conversation,  there  is  the  poison  of  double  meaning,  for  it  is  obvious  that  Van 
awaits  Samuel's  denunciation  of  Toni  and  the  opportunity  to  possess  her  after  Samuel 
has  cast  her  from  his  house.  Apparently  there  is  no  hope  for  the  poor  little  girl  as  she 
leans  helplessly  against  a  pillar  waiting  for  the  inevitable  execrations  of  Samuel. 

TERRIFIC   SUSPENSE. 

87.  Up  to  scene  431,  the  suspense  tightening  to  almost  unbearable  tensity,  in- 
creases scene  by  scene.  Then  Samuel  speaks  sub-title  71,  which  abruptly  relieves  the 
situation.  In  viewing  the  presentation  of  this  photoplay  several  times,  there  was  inva- 
riably an  audible  sigh  of  relief  from  the  audience  as  this  sub-title  was  flashed  upon  the 
screen,  but  even  yet  Toni's  position  is  in  some  doubt.  What  is  he  going  to  say  to  her 
after  Van  leaves?  We  see  the  defeated  scoundrel  pick  up  his  suitcase  and  go,  but  the 
suspense  continues  as  Toni  stands  waiting  for  the  denunciation  that  she  feels  certain  is 
coming  from  her  husband.  His  very  silence  maintains  the  suspense  that  is  clutching 
at  Toni  as  well  as  at  the  audience. 

88.  Trying  to  make  conversation,  he  says,  "I  had  a  grinding  hard  day  at  the 
office,"  and  as  Toni  still  stands  frantically  expecting  harsh  words  of  reproach,  he  con- 
tinues quietly,  "I  could  not  talk  about  the  plot."  Now,  surely  it  is  coming — the  out- 
burst of  accusation  that  he  has  been  working  up  to  and  trying  to  suppress. 

THE    BIG    "punch." 

89.  Then  comes  the  climax  which  lifted  this  photoplay  from  a  well-constructed 
and  highly  interesting  story  to  a  sensational  success,  for,  in  eleven  words,  Samuel 
brings  about  a  surprise  that  lifts  Toni,  as  well  as  the  audience,  to  a  height  of  emotion, 
which  causes  a  desire  to  scream  with  joyous  relief.  Apologetically,  he  says,  "The 
truth  is  that  I  slept  through  the  whole  darn  show."  This  caused  much  discussion  at 
the  time  that  "For  Husbands  Only"  was  first  exhibited.  Had  he  really  slept  through 
the  show,  and  was  this  accident  the  salvation  of  Toni,  or  had  he  witnessed  the  play 
throughout  and  with  complete  faith  in  his  wife,  fabricated  in  order  to  close  the  inci- 
dent? 

Analyzing  the  continuity,  however,  it  will  be  remembered  that  in  scene  396  we 
saw  Samuel  leaning  forw-ard  with  clasped  hands  fully  grasping  the  meaning  of  Van's 
play.  In  the  face  of  this  fact,  the  true  nobility  of  the  man  is  forced  upon  us  as  well 
as  his  keen  perception  in  discerning  the  true  motive  that  lay  behind  all  of  Van's  care- 
fully laid  but  fruitless  plans. 

130 


THE      HAPPY    ENDING. 

90.  As  Samuel  lies  delightfully  to  Toni  in  scene  441  about  sleeping  through 
the  performance  of  Van's  play,  we  visualize  his  little  tale  of  untruth  in  scene  442. 
Then  in  scene  443,  the  true-hearted  husband  looks  questioningly  at  his  wife,  fully 
realizes  her  innocence  and  enfolds  her  in  his  sheltering  arms.  Almost  hysterical  in 
her  relief,  Toni  clings  to  him  and  kisses  him,  and  we  know  that  there  is  no  question 
as  to  the  completeness  of  her  love. 

Samuel,  still  tactful,  still  realizing  that  his  little  bride  is  scarcely  more  than  a 
child,  speaks  sub-title  76,  suggesting  tliat  in  the  future  they  avoid  Van.  Obviously 
nothing  could  be  more  pleasing  to  Toni,  and  as  she  presses  her  happy  tear-stained  face 
against  his,  we  feel  assured  that  all  will  be  well  with  them  henceforth.  It  is  a  happy 
ending  and  yet  it  is  the  perfectly  natural  and  the  almost  inevitable  solution  of  the 
story. 


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CHAPTER  XXII 

Analysis  of  Continuity  of  "Speed  and  Suspicion" 

1.  In  considering  this  comedy  photoplay  we  must  realize  at  the  start  that  it  is  a 
one-reel  subject,  and  that,  therefore,  an  elaborate  story  cannot  be  told,  and  that  even  a 
slight  plot  of  this  sort  must  be  presented  with  all  possible  elimination  of  everything  but 
that  which  bears  directly  upon  the  central  theme.  A  one-reel  film  consists  of  one 
thousand  feet,  and  this  limitation  is  mechanically  definite,  for  no  more  than  this  can 
be  wound  upon  the  metal  cylinder  which  is  inserted  into  the  projection  machine  when 
the  picture  is  shown.  Of  this  thousand  feet  of  film,  about  fifty  feet  is  blank — twenty- 
five  feet  at  each  end — for  the  purpose  of  starting  to  wind  it  into  the  projecting  machine. 

2.  In  addition  to  this,  the  main-title,  cast  of  characters,  and  sub-titles  occupy 
approximately  two  hundred  feet.  This  leaves  us  about  seven  hundred  and  fifty  feet  of 
film  for  the  action  of  the  story.  For  that  reason  we  introduce  our  characters  and  jump 
abruptly  into  our  subject  without  wasting  any  time.  It  will  be  noted  that  our  two 
principal  characters  are  introduced  in  the  first  two  scenes.  Sub-title  number  1  intro- 
duces Clinton  Syx  and  tells  us  that  he  is  making  the  best  of  his  wife's  absence  from 
town.  In  scene  number  1  we  realize  that  he  is  fond  of  speeding  and  is  occupied  in  that 
pastime  when  the  story  opens. 

CHARACTERS    INTRODUCED   AT   START. 

3.  Sub-title  number  2  introduces  Barrow  A.  Ryde  and  explains  that  he  is  a 
friend  of  Syx's  bachelor  days.  Scene  number  2  reveals  to  us  that  Barrow  is  not  as  fond 
of  speeding  as  is  Clinton,  and  scene  number  3  compels  us  to  sympathize  with  him  when 
the  face  of  the  speedometer  indicates  that  Clinton  is  making  seventy-five  miles  an  hour. 

4.  In  sub-title  3  a  motorcycle  policeman  is  introduced  and  in  scene  8  he  starts  in 
pursuit  of  Clinton's  law-breaking  roadster.  There  we  have  our  principal  characters 
introduced  and  the  theme  of  the  story  established  all  in  the  first  eight  scenes.  The 
entire  story  concerns  Clinton's  desperate  effort  to  escape  arrest  and  thus  avoid  an 
impending  thirty-day  jail  sentence.  This  we  have  grasped  in  reading  the  detailed 
synopsis.  One  of  the  greatest  difficulties  in  writing  acceptable  one-reel  comedies  is 
thus  made  evident,  for  to  introduce  our  characters  and  establish  our  plot  in  so  short  a 
space  is  by  no  means  an  easy  accomplishment. 

5.  It  is  unnecessary  for  the  free-lance  writer  to  submit  continuity,  but  in  pre- 
paring the  detailed  synopsis  the  plot  must  be  so  constructed  and  the  story  told  in  such  a 
form  that  lengthy  scenes  and  sequences  for  the  establishment  of  plot  and  characters 
must  be  studiously  avoided.  No  more  than  a  single  central  thought  may  be  handled  in 
a  one-reel  story. 

6.  In  the  present  subject  we  are  dealing  with  a  man  attempting  to  elude  and  de- 
ceive a  motorcycle  policeman  in  order  to  avoid  a  jail  sentence,  and  every  incident  and 
situation  contained  in  the  story  bears  directly  upon  that  thought.  There  would  be  room 
for  no  other  matters  in  this  short  length  of  film.  In  the  sequence  contained  in  scenes  9 
to  16,  inclusive,  we  have  the  pursuit  of  the  speeder  by  the  officer  of  the  law  which 
terminates  in  scene  17  when  the  motorcycle  finally  catches  up  with  the  roadster  and  the 
officer  says,  "You're  pinched!" 

132 


SUBSTANTIAL  MOTIVE. 

7.  In  sub-title  6  we  receive  the  information  which  supplies  the  motive  for 
Clinton's  frantic  effort  to  avoid  arrest.  If  there  were  merely  a  fine  of  five  or  ten 
dollars  staring  him  in  the  face,  Clinton  would  certainly  not  go  to  the  extremes  that  he 
does  in  order  to  deceive  the  policeman,  but  the  statement  from  the  latter  that  the 
judge  has  warned  Clinton  that  a  thirty-day  jail  sentence  awaits  him  the  next  time  he 
is  brought  into  court  supplies  a  plausible  reason  for  Clinton  to  frantically  attempt  to 
squirm  out  of  his  predicament.  So,  thinking  quickly,  he  offers  the  excuse  that  his  wife 
is  sick  and  that  Barrow  is  a  physician  whom  he  is  bringing  to  the  house  to  prescribe 
for  her. 

THE    PLOT    ESTABLISHED. 

8.  Scenes  1  to  18,  inclusive  of  eight  sub-titles,  may  in  this  case  be  regarded  as  the 
first  part  or  beginning  of  the  story.  Clinton  is  in  a  predicament  and  has  lied  to  the 
policeman  in  order  to  extricate  himself,  and  in  scene  19  he  starts  to  put  into  effect  a 
ruse  that  he  hopes  will  save  him  from  jail.  Let  us  note  that  the  interest  of  the  audience 
is  held  up  to  this  point  from  the  very  opening  of  the  story.  First  we  smile  at  Barrow's 
terror  at  the  speed  the  automobile  is  making — then  we  see  the  motorcycle  officer  start 
in  pursuit  and  we  are  interested  to  know  whether  he  succeeds  in  catching  the  speeder 
or  not.  Just  as  soon  as  he  succeeds  in  doing  so  we  see  Clinton  attempt  an  impulsive 
deception,  and  when  the  policeman  says:  "All  right,  show  me,"  we  wonder  what 
Clinton  is  going  to  do,  knowing  from  the  opening  sub-title  that  his  wife  is  out  of  town. 

In  the  pursuit  of  the  speeding  machine  we  had  a  mild  form  of  suspense  which  now 
increases  as  we  eagerly  watch  Clinton  to  see  how  he  is  going  to  get  out  of  his  scrape. 
Wc  are  not  sure  what  his  plans  are  until  we  have  followed  the  three  men  into  the 
house,  and  in  scene  25  see  Barrow  arranging  to  impersonate  the  sick  wife.  To  this 
point  the  suspense  is  maintained  as  we  are  in  doubt  as  to  what  Clinton's  whispered 
plans  are,  and  as  soon  as  we  know  the  suspense  continues  as  we  wonder  whether  or 
not  the  deception  is  going  to  be  successful.  This  suspense  increases  gradually  up  to  the 
opening  of  scene  44,  when  it  is  relieved  as  we  see  the  policeman  leave  the  room  com- 
pletely satisfied. 

9.  As  soon  as  he  is  alone,  Barrow  gets  out  of  bed  and  removes  nightgown,  cap  and 
curls,  puts  on  his  hat  and  coat  and  goes  down  stairs  to  join  Clinton  and  rejoice  over 
the  success  of  their  plans.  Everything  runs  smoothly  from  scene  46  to  the  first  part  of 
scene  53  and  then  another  obstacle  appears  which  immediately  creates  a  new  situation 
and  renews  the  suspense,  for  just  as  Clinton  and  Barrow  are  filled  with  exultation 
over  their  clever  escape  from  arrest,  the  policeman  becomes  suspicious  and  demands  that 
he  be  allowed  to  go  upstairs  and  obtain  the  sick  wife's  signature. 

For  Barrow  to  abruptly  return  to  the  bedroom  and  again  assume  the  part  of  the 
wife  would  certainly  be  difficult  under  the  circumstances,  as  the  officer  starts  immedi- 
ately to  go  upstairs.  Barrow  halts  him,  however,  and  detains  him  with  the  excuse  that 
he  must  give  her  some  medicine  first.  Passing  out  into  the  hall  he  decides  to  throw  up 
the  whole  thing  and  leave  Clinton  to  his  fate,  and  going  out  the  front  door,  starts  to 
leave  the  house.  Reaching  the  sidewalk  he  meets  his  sweetheart  and  sees  a  new  gleam 
of  hope. 

LACK  OF  MOTIVE. 

10.  If  I  were  to  criticise  this  story  I  would  point  to  this  incident  as  its  greatest 
weakness.  Everything  that  has  gone  before  is  quite  possible  and  plausible,  but  there  is 
an  element  of  coincidence  and  "convenience"  in  having  the  sweetheart  happen  along  at 
so  opportune  a  time.  This  story  was  written  under  high  pressure  at  a  time  when  I 
was  turning  out  an  average  of  two  one-reel  stories  a  week  and  therefore  this  weakness 
was  allowed  to  pass,  but  to  have  a  character  walk  into  a  story  at  so  convenient  a 

133 


moment  for  no  particular  reason  other  than  to  forward  the  progress  of  the  plot  is  bad 
construction,  nevertheless.  As  the  story  stands,  however,  Barrow  persuades  his  sweet- 
heart to  rush  into  the  house  with  him,  where  they  tiptoe  upstairs,  and  the  girl  puts  on 
the  nightgown  and  takes  the  part  of  the  sick  wife. 

11.  The  sequence  which  follows  runs  along  until  scene  78  and  then  comes  the 
beginning  of  more  suspense  and  another  situation,  for  in  sub-title  15  we  see  Mrs.  Syx 
arriving  just  as  the  policeman  leaves  the  house.  When  she  asks  him  what  is  wrong  and 
he  tells  her  in  sub-title  16  that  a  woman  in  the  house  is  rejoicing  over  a  visit  of  the  stork, 
she  is  naturally  astounded  and  hurries  into  the  house  to  investigate.  Again  the  rejoicing 
of  Clinton  and  Barrow  is  rudely  interrupted  as  the  former  realizes  that  his  jealous  wife 
is  not  going  to  listen  to  any  weak  explanations  of  the  girl's  presence  in  the  house. 

COMEDY  SUSPENSE. 

12.  While  the  two  men  are  trying  to  appear  at  ease  and  smooth  things  over,  the 
girl  upstairs  tips  over  a  chair,  causing  Mrs.  Syx  to  be  more  suspicious  than  ever. 
Sarcastically  suggesting  that  the  noise  must  have  been  made  by  Clinton's  "baby,"  she 
insists  upon  going  upstairs  to  investigate.  This  situation  gradually  builds  and  reaches 
its  height  when  Barrow  hides  the  girl  in  the  space  behind  the  dresser  and  is  relieved 
when  Mrs.  Sy.\  leaves  the  room,  satisfied  that  there  is  no  on  there.  The  sequence 
following  this  runs  along  to  scene  100,  when  Mrs.  Syx  catches  sight  of  the  girl  trying 
to  quietly  get  out  of  the  front  door,  and  immediately  we  are  plunged  into  another 
situation.  Mrs.  Syx  gives  chase  and  finally  catches  the  girl  in  scene  114,  and  what 
threatens  to  be  a  fight  is  interrupted  by  the  breathless  explanations  of  the  two  men  in 
sub-title  21. 

13.  Everything  seems  to  be  happily  and  peacefully  settled  when  along  comes  our 
climax,  in  scene  117,  when  the  policeman  returns  and  overhears  the  joyful  explanations 
of  Clinton  and  Barrow  and  places  both  under  arrest,  presumably  leading  them  away  to 
receive  their  jail  sentence.  Here  we  have  another  weakness,  for  no  reason  is  given 
for  the  policeman's  return  to  the  house.  This  may  be  forgiven  under  the  circumstances, 
however,  for  the  action  is  moving  so  rapidly  right  at  this  point  that  the  average  spectator 
is  not  likely  to  analyze  so  fine  a  point.  Had  this  been  a  two-reel  subject  there  would 
have  been  room  to  consistently  supply  a  motive  for  the  return  of  the  officer  to  the  house. 

PERFECT   UNITY. 

14.  Analyzing  the  story,  however,  we  see  that  the  characters  are  introduced  and 
the  plot  established  in  the  minds  of  the  audience,  and  then  one  situation  leads  to 
another  until  we  finally  reach  the  final  or  climactic  situation,  and  the  story  ends.  We 
have  unity,  for  the  entire  story  takes  place  in  one  residence,  the  driveway  and  street  in 
front  of  the  residence  and  a  few  scenes  in  nearby  streets  in  the  early  part  of  the  story. 
This  illustrates  the  unity  of  place. 

So  far  as  unity  of  time  is  concerned,  the  entire  story  takes  place  consecutively 
and  with  no  time  lapse  whatever.  It  is  written  in  "running  time"  or,  in  other  words, 
the  whole  sequence  of  events  might  have  taken  place  in  exactly  the  time  that  is 
required  to  run  the  film  through  the  projecting  machine.  It  is  not  always  possible  to 
construct  a  story  without  any  lapses  of  time,  but  it  is  particularly  desirable  to  do  so 
m  a  one  or  two-reel  story,  as  we  have  no  time  to  readjust  our  viewpoint  in  so  short  a 
space.  Looking  at  our  cast  of  characters,  it  will  be  seen  that  we  have  no  superfluous 
persons,  the  entire  story  concerning  only  three  men  and  two  women.  At  no  time  is 
anything  foreign  to  the  central  thought  of  the  plot  introduced. 


134 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

Analysis  of  Direct  Detailed  Synopsis  of  "Gates  of  Brass" 

1.  In  this  manuscript  we  have  a  fine  specimen  of  the  direct  detailed  synopsis  form 
of  presenting  a  photoplay.  This  is  an  exact  copy  of  "Gates  of  Brass"  just  as  it  was 
submitted  to  Frank  Keenan  by  Kate  Corbaley,  and  it  was  from  this  manuscript  that 
the  final  working  continuity  was  prepared.  In  one  item  it  differs  from  the  customary 
rule — the  story  is  told  in  the  past  tense  and  usually  the  present  tense  is  regarded  as 
preferable.    This  is  a  minor  matter,  however,  that  need  not  deeply  concern  the  student. 

2.  It  will  be  noted  that  a  little  more  than  fifteen  pages  of  manuscript  are  re- 
quired in  the  direct  and  complete  telling  of  the  story.  Possibly  this  could  have  been 
reduced  to  twelve,  or  even  eight  or  ten  pages,  but  it  is  doubtful  if  a  clear  and  compre- 
hensive understanding  of  the  growth  of  the  story  could  have  been  possible  in  so  short 
a  space.  On  the  other  hand,  a  carelessly  prepared  synopsis  might  easily  have  run  to 
twenty-five  or  thirty  pages.  So  far  as  length  is  concerned,  this  and  the  detailed  synopsis 
of  "For  Husbands  Only"  are  very  good  examples  of  the  combination  of  brevity  and 
completeness. 

3.  The  story  opens  with  a  sub-title  which  immediately  plants  in  the  mind  of 
the  reader  a  thought  that  prepares  for  what  follows.  Following  this  brief  generaliza- 
tion come  the  first  two  paragraphs  in  which  our  attention  is  focused  on  the  central 
figure  of  the  story — J.  Hatfield  Blake.  Then  in  the  third  paragraph  the  story  begins 
with  a  description  of  the  first  scenes  of  the  play  and  an  elaboration  of  Blake's  character. 
Following  this  comes  the  introduction  of  the  little  six-year-old  daughter  who  was  the 
object  of  Blake's  tender  love.  By  the  time  we  reach  the  sub-title  on  page  six  we  feel 
fairly  well  acquainted  with  the  father  and  child  and  we  have  gained  sufficient  knowl- 
edge of  the  character  of  the  man  to  be  deeply  interested  in  the  events  that  follow  the 
twelve  years'  lapse  of  time. 

4.  To  maintain  the  quality  of  unity  that  is  desirable  in  the  construction  of  photo- 
plays, so  long  a  lapse  as  this  is  to  be  avoided  if  possible.  In  this  case,  however,  our 
understanding  of  Blake  and  his  motives  is  so  much  more  perfect  through  the  brief 
glimpse  into  his  earlier  life,  which  serves  as  a  sort  of  prologue  to  the  real  story,  that  the 
twelve  years'  break  in  the  action  was  allowed  to  remain.  The  story  might  have  begun 
at  this  point  instead  of  twelve  years  earlier,  and  the  fact  that  Blake,  the  wealthy  pro- 
moter, was  formerly  a  pea-game  manipulator,  following  little  circuses  and  county  fairs, 
might  have  been  told  in  a  sub-title.  The  story  was  written  especially  for  Mr.  Keenan, 
however,  and  the  acting  possibilities  contained  in  ttie  development  of  the  characteriza- 
tions from  the  small-town  gambler  to  the  wealthy  "Raffles"  of  the  business  world  made 
the  present  form  of  construction  desirable. 

5.  It  is  unnecessary  to  follow  the  story  paragraph  by  paragraph,  for  its  growth 
is  self-explanatorj'.  The  Wilbur  family  enters  into  the  lives  of  Blake  and  his  daughter 
and  what  could  be  more  natural  than  for  the  former  craftily  to  grasp  the  opportunity 
to  swindle  this  easy-going  man  of  wealth  with  one  of  his  tempting  promotion  ideas; 
and  with  the  two  fathers  wrapped  up  in  the  discussion  of  the  business  details  involved 
therein  and  Margaret  and  Dick  thrown  together  almost  constantly,  could  anything  be 
more  inevitable  than  their  falling  violently  in  love? 

135 


6.  At  this  point  in  the  story,  it  is  obvious  that  the  element  of  suspense  enters  in 
for  the  audience,  armed  with  the  knowledge  of  what  is  going  on  between  the  two 
fathers  and  their  two  children,  cannot  but  begin  to  foresee  the  tremendously  dramatic 
situation  that  is  impending.  Right  here  let  us  direct  our  attention  to  the  oft  repeated 
statement  that  "there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun,"  but  that  with  new  treatment  an 
old,  old  story  may  be  brought  down  to  date  and  made  to  appear  new  and  novel — for 
in  this  crisis  in  the  lives  of  the  Blakes  and  the  Wilburs,  we  have  a  parallel  of  the  story 
of  Romeo  and  Juliet  in  which  two  of  the  youngest  generation  of  the  Montagues  and 
Capulets  fell  in  love  in  spite  of  the  rivalry  and  hatred  that  had  made  bitter  enemies 
of  their  elders. 

7.  The  two  stories  work  out  to  entirely  different  conclusions,  but  in  this  pivotal 
situation  they  are  identical,  and  given  a  different  locale,  a  new  set  of  circumstances  and 
new  treatment,  other  stories  may  be  wrought  from  this  same  dramatic  crisis.  With 
the  approach  of  this  situation,  which  reaches  its  height  when  Margaret  angrily  orders 
Dick  away,  the  suspense  starts,  and  while  it  rises  and  falls  throughout  the  remainder 
of  the  story  it  never  completely  ends  until  the  final  scene  is  reached.  Occasionally  it 
is  relieved  with  a  little  touch  of  brightness  and  then  it  is  intensified  and  the  audience 
is  held  breathless  or  on  the  verge  of  tears. 

8.  This  suggests  the  terse  advice  some  one  has  given — that  to  hold  an  audience's 
attention  from  the  start  to  the  finish  of  a  dramatic  story  it  is  necessary  to  "make  'em 
laugh,  make  'em  cry — make  'em  wait!"  Possibly  the  whole  essence  of  photodrama 
could  be  expressed  no  more  clearly  than  in  those  few  words.  The  alternating  events 
of  the  story  serve  to  produce  laughter  and  tears,  but  the  suspense  must  be  maintained 
throughout  in  order  to  "make  'em  wait!"  for  after  the  parting  of  Margaret  and  Dick 
it  is  clear  that  no  audience  could  be  satisfied  until  the  lovers  were  finally  and  happily 
reunited. 

9.  After  we  see  this  seemingly  insurmountable  obstacle  come  between  the  boy 
and  girl  our  hearts  beat  faster  for  them,  for  it  is  eternally  true  that  "all  the  world 
loves  a  lover,"  and  when  that  love  for  two  lovers  is  mixed  with  anxiety  and  doubt  the 
photoplaywright  may  be  reasonably  sure  that  he  has  a  firm  hold  on  his  audience  and 
he  may  continue  playing  on  their  heart-strings,  as  an  accomplished  musician  fingers 
the  strings  of  a  harp,  until  he  closes  his  tale  with  one  soft,  sweet  chord  of  harmony. 

10.  Not  only  does  our  sympathy  go  out  to  Margaret  and  Dick,  however,  for  in 
spite  of  our  knowledge  of  Blake's  despicable  lack  of  business  ethics  we  cannot  but  feel 
for  him  in  his  glorious  love  for  his  daughter  and  in  his  fear  that  sooner  or  later  she 
will  become  aware  of  the  source  of  his  riches.  When  she  asks  to  be  allowed  to  work 
in  his  office  his  heart  contracts  with  the  fear  of  the  moment  when  the  girl  shall  learn 
the  truth. 

11.  This  produces  another  thread  of  suspense  that  runs  parallel  with  our  alter- 
nating hopes  and  fears  concerning  the  reunion  of  the  youthful  lovers.  Thus  we  are 
led,  step  by  step,  to  another  gripping  situation  which  culminates  when  Margaret,  after 
over-hearing  the  accusation  of  one  of  the  victims  of  her  father's  latest  dishonest 
scheme,  turns  her  back  on  the  Christmas  tree  and  flees,  leaving  her  father  amidst  the 
wreckage  of  his  hopes,  for  we  know  that  his  one  great  motive  in  amassing  riches  and 
greater  riches  has  been  to  make  his  child's  life  happy. 

12.  And  what  heights  of  drama  we  behold  in  the  scene  in  which  Blake  stands 
surrounded  by  the  scattered  pearls  from  the  necklace  which  had  been  his  Yuletide  gift 
to  Margaret  and  which  she  had  torn  from  her  neck  in  her  righteous  anger,  and  the 
Christmas  tree  ornament  in  the  shape  of  a  glittering  globe  drops  from  his  hands  and  is 
scattered  into  countless  fragments.  What  a  symbol  of  the  "glittering,  worthless  thing 
his  life  has  been."    This  is  genuine,  human  drama! 

13.  The  story  proceeds  with  the  ebb  and  flow  of  suspense,  during  which  the 
sympathies  of  the  audience  follow  close  upon  the  heels  of  the  loving  boy  and  girl 
and  the  lonely  old  man,  until  we  reach  that  Christmas  day  during  which  the  story 

136 


ends.  We  see  the  father  waiting  and  hoping  that  Margaret  will  come  to  him  and 
bring  back  the  happiness  that  departed  from  his  life  when  she  left  him  on  that  other 
Christmas  eve,  and  simultaneously  we  know  that  the  same  thoughts  are  surging  into 
the  heart  of  Margaret  as  the  thoughts  of  those  otlier  happy  years  crowd  upon  her. 

14.  It  would  be  superfluous  to  attempt  to  explain  the  sequence  of  the  story  as  it 
follows  toward  the  end,  for  the  manuscript  synopsis  accomplished  this  perfectly.  As 
the  final  climax  approaches,  however,  the  suspense  rises  and  rises,  and  as  we  see  the 
broken  old  man  drowning  his  unbearable  sorrow  in  drink  while  the  daughter,  whom 
he  believes  has  ignored  his  appeal,  is  speeding  to  him,  we  are  held  gripped  in  the  reali- 
zation of  the  inevitability  of  the  final  balancing  of  the  scales  of  right  and  wrong,  and 
at  the  last  when  the  eager  girl  enters  the  silent  house  and  touching  the  old  man's  arm 
cries,  "Father,"  we  have  not  the  conventional,  happy  ending,  and  j'et  as  the  final  scene 
fades  out  and  we  walk  slowly  and  silently  from  the  darkened  theatre  we  cannot  but 
feel  that  there  could  have  been  no  other  conclusion  of  the  story. 

15.  The  tragedy  of  the  climax  is  softened  by  the  thought  of  the  future  happiness 
that  awaits  Dick  and  Margaret,  and  though  we  may  sorrow  with  them  for  the 
moment  as  our  thoughts  revert  to  the  scene  of  the  dead  man  with  his  head  bowed  upon 
his  arms  on  the  table,  we  can  do  naught  else  but  murmur,  "It  was  fate — Nemesis — the 
hand  of  God — but  it  was  just!" 


137 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Conclusion 

1.  The  preceding  chapters  are  written  as  a  result  of  actual  experience;  much 
that  is  contained  in  several  books  on  the  subject  of  scenario  writing  has  been  avoided 
or  eliminated  as  being  unnecessary  and  superfluous.  Fine  points  of  opinion,  academic 
hairsplitting,  pet  theories  and  petty  differences  of  view-point  have  been  studiously 
avoided. 

2.  The  man  or  woman  who  sets  out  to  become  a  successful  photoplaywright  has 
but  one  prime  object — an  interesting  story,  presented  in  clear  and  brief  form.  Such 
a  writer  must  abide  by  the  general  and  fundamental  rules  of  construction  and  sub- 
mission, but  he  must  not  become  entangled  in  or  burdened  with  useless  rules  and 
restrictions.  Some  books  written  on  this  subject  are  inclined  to  confuse  rather  than 
enlighten. 

3.  All  that  has  been  contained  in  the  Palmer  Plan  is  intended  to  serve  as  a 
means  of  guidance,  giving  the  imagination  and  originality  of  the  individual  writer  all 
the  freedom  possible.  The  student  is  urged  to  develop  his  own  ideas  as  freely  as  possi- 
ble, within  the  necessarj'  limits  of  the  fundamental  restrictions  that  must  be  observed 
in  order  to  maintain  regularity  of  construction. 

DRAMA   UNDER  YOUR   NOSE. 

4.  When  you  have  followed  out  the  course  of  study  which  is  laid  out  at  the 
opening  of  this  Handbook  you  will  be  ready  to  start  evolving  a  story.  Do  not  sit 
down  at  a  desk  and  wrinkle  your  brow  in  an  intense  search  for  a  plot.  Look  out 
upon  life.  If  you  are  engaged  in  employment  that  demands  a  large  portion  of  your 
time,  look  about  the  surroundings  that  are  familiar  to  you,  in  the  shop,  store,  mill, 
office  or  environment  of  any  nature  whatsoever  that  you  are  in  closest  touch  with. 
It  is  natural  to  reach  over  one's  immediate  surroundings  for  a  subject,  for  familiarity 
is  quite  likely  to  breed  contempt,  or  at  least  indifference.  This  is  a  great  mistake  and 
the  one  that  the  beginner  usually  makes. 

5.  I  am  personally  acquainted  with  a  young  man  who  developed  marked  liter- 
ary ability,  but  his  stories  did  not  sell  extensive!}'.  He  was  employed  in  the  office  of 
a  firm  that  deals  in  machinery — the  surroundinigs  seemed  to  him  to  be  as  unromantic 
and  uninteresting  as  any  that  he  could  imagine.  But  one  day  he  ran  across  an  incident 
in  his  daily  work  which  he  developed  into  a  story ;  it  sold  at  once,  and  since  then  he 
has  written  a  dozen  stories  dealing  with  happenings  in  the  daily  life  of  himself  and 
those  around  him — and  has  not  only  sold  every  one  of  them  to  prominent  magazines 
but  has  received  requests  for  more. 

6.  His  familiarity  with  his  subject  made  him  successful  in  writing  stories  of 
people  and  places  that  he  knew  in  every  detail.  This  applies  to  photoplay  writing 
just  as  effectively  as  it  does  to  literary  work. 

7.  Choose  the  subject  of  your  first  story  from  your  own  surroundings.    The  life 
of  someone  with  whom  you  are  familiar  may  contain  the  germ  of  a  plot — there  may 
be  one  in  your  own  life.    But  it  is  probably  no  more  than  a  germ.    Apply  your  imagi- 
ng 


nation  and  reasoning  powers  and  work  out  a  stor>'  outline,  adding  the  dramatic  values 
that  may  be  lacking.     Do  not  use  too  much  haste. 

8.  Eustace  Hale  Ball  sums  up  in  a  brief  manner  the  substance  of  a  photoplay 
thus:  "Struggle  is  the  foundation  stone  of  drama.  Some  one  or  several  want  some- 
thing; they  try  to  get  it.  Some  one,  or  others,  or  something  resists  the  efforts  to  ob- 
tain it.  The  continuation  of  these  efforts,  now  succeeding  temporarily,  now  failing, 
here  changing  in  plan,  there  surprising  the  antagonist,  is  the  action  of  the  drama." 

KEEP   BRAIN  ACTIVE. 

9.  So,  in  sitting  down  to  create  a  story,  you  must  choose  a  definite  set  of  characters 
and  definite  things  for  them  to  do.  You  may  take  an  incident  from  your  own  life, 
or  from  the  life  of  a  friend  or  neighbor;  you  may  receive  a  suggestion  from  something 
that  you  have  read  in  a  newspaper,  but  regardless  of  where  you  find  the  seed  of 
thought  from  which  the  story  grows,  you  must  assure  yourself,  to  the  best  of  your 
ability,  first,  that  it  is  possessed  of  a  large  element  of  originality,  and,  next  that  it  has 
dramatic  qualities. 

If  it  is  lacking  in  the  latter  you  must  set  your  creative  mind  to  work  in  an  effort 
to  supply  that  lack  and  need.  Few  experiences,  no  matter  how  thrilling  or  interesting 
they  may  have  been  to  you  or  to  another,  are  suited  to  screen  use  just  as  they  stand. 
Many  stories  are  sent  in  to  editors  of  producing  companies,  with  the  appended  infor- 
mation that  "this  is  a  true  story  and  is  written  just  as  it  happened."  There  is  no  virtue 
in  truth  in  a  photoplay  unless  the  truth  be  dramatic.  Photo-drama  is  screen  fiction, 
and  a  photoplay  must  possess  certain  qualifications  if  it  is  to  be  interesting  and  ab- 
sorbing. 

BIG  EARNINGS. 

10.  Epes  Winthrop  Sargent,  of  the  "Moving  Picture  World,"  said,  in  a  recent 
issue:  "Prices  run  from  $400  to  $1000.  This  is  paid  for  a  synopsis  of  from  four  to 
ten  sheets  of  typewriter  paper,  double  spaced.  Getting  right  down  to  facts,  that  is 
pretty  good  pay,  isn't  it?  .  How  long  would  you  expect  to  have  to  work  in  an  office 
for  a  thousand  dollars?  Certainly  more  than  a  week  or  so,  and  yet  we  know  many 
writers  who  still  think  of  an  idea  today,  write  it  tomorrow,  mail  it  the  following  day, 
and  wonder  why  it  does  not  sell.  Give  to  the  development  of  your  idea  a  whole  week, 
or  even  two. 

"Work  on  it  until  it  looks  like  a  finished  product  and  not  like  something  you  did 
at  school  and  dug  out  of  your  trunk.  Be  certain  it  is  as  good  as  you  can  possibly  make 
it  before  you  send  it  away  to  seek  its  fortune.  Even  then  it  may  not  be  good  enough, 
but  give  it  all  the  chance  you  can." 

11.  I  recommend  that  the  author  who  is  feeling  about  for  a  story  first  find  a 
situation  that  will  serve  as  a  climax  and  then  go  back  and  work  up  to  his  climax,  hav- 
ing it  always  in  mind  as  an  objective  point. 

PRACTICAL  VISUALIZATION. 

12.  After  sketching  out  a  bare  plot,  put  your  powers  of  visualization  to  work 
in  a  practical  manner.  SEE  your  characters  as  they  move  about  in  response  to  your 
imagination.  Do  not  cling  to  your  first  thought — change  your  story  about  in  order  to 
improve  it;  try  several  courses  of  treatment  and  select  the  one  that  seems  best.  Ex- 
amine your  cast  and  see  if  you  can  eliminate  unnecessary  characters,  retaining  only 
those  that  are  really  necessary. 

13.  When  you  have  your  plot  in  rough  form,  with  a  climax  toward  which  to 
work  and  the  action  leading  up  to  it  sketched  out  lightly,  decide  on  a  good  opening.    A 

139 


strong  and  convincing  start  helps  to  arouse  immediate  interest,  not  only  in  an  audi- 
ence but  in  the  editor  to  whom  you  are  trying  to  sell  your  manuscript.  Having  hit 
upon  what  seems  to  be  a  good  opening,  start  and  carefully  build  the  substance  of  your 
story.  At  the  end  of  a  day  sit  down  and  write  what  you  have  evolved  in  your  visual- 
ization. Bear  in  mind  at  all  times  that  your  story  must  be  interesting.  Watch  for 
moments  where  you  can  use  suspense  to  advantage. 

14.  Build  your  scenes,  one  upon  another,  so  that  the  interest  will  increase  in- 
stead of  diminish.  Start  by  establishing  your  characters,  lay  your  foundation  of 
premise  and  work  from  this,  in  a  logical  manner,  toward  the  climax. 

15.  Do  not  be  discouraged  if  you  run  into  a  "blind  lead" — if  you  get  into  a 
corner  from  which  there  seems  to  be  no  escape.  Go  back  and  work  along  different 
lines ;  you  will  probably  see  where  your  construction  can  be  changed  in  a  way  that  will 
straighten  out  your  tangle. 

Visualize  in  continuity  form,  and  then  write  what  you  have  visualized  in  the 
same  manner.  This  will  have  the  effect  of  placing  your  characters  as  chess-men  on  a 
board.  In  working  out  a  continuity  you  will  be  able  to  follow  each  character  carefully 
and  without  confusion.  Do  not  allow  your  characters  to  all  get  together — keep  them 
apart,  or  in  separate  groups,  bringing  them  into  contact  as  the  movement  of  the  story 
demands  and  then  separating  them.  If  you  get  your  characters  all  into  one  place  you 
will  have  nothing  to  which  to  cut.  Look  over  the  continuities  that  accompany  this 
Handbook  and  you  will  see  that  the  characters  are  kept  in  different  localities  and  that 
the  action  cuts  from  one  faction  to  another  in  alternation. 

16.  In  a  spot  where  a  scene  or  sequence  must  be  sustained  in  order  to  tell  your 
story,  the  use  of  close-ups  will  help  to  break  up  continuous  action.  But  avoid  this 
wherever  possible,  cutting  from  one  character  or  faction  to  another,  moving  each  for- 
ward in  the  story  each  time  you  cut  to  it.  Do  not  introduce  a  character,  take  it 
through  a  few  scenes  for  the  sake  of  convenience,  and  then  drop  it.  Your  principal 
characters  must  have  to  do  with  the  story  all  the  way  through.  Of  course  an  inci- 
dental character,  such  as  a  messenger  boy,  a  policeman,  a  chauffeur  or  some  such 
supernumerary  is  not  concerned  in  this  rule.  But  if  you  establish  a  character  as  a 
part  of  your  story  and  then  drop  it,  the  audience  continually  wonders  where  it  has 
gone  and  when  it  is  coming  back.  Expectations  are  aroused,  which,  if  ungratified, 
leave  a  feeling  of  dissatisfaction  or  disappointment  or  confusion. 

17.  Do  not  allow  your  mind  to  drift — do  not  aimlessly  dream.  Concentrate  on 
the  clear-cut  plot  of  your  story,  make  it  natural,  interesting ,  logical,  interesting, 
novel,  interesting,  simple,  interesting,  picturesque,  if  possible,  interesting ;  keep  up  the 
action  and  conflict  of  factions;  inject  suspense  and  "punch"  where  it  can  be  used  to 
advantage,  watch  out  that  you  do  not  break  necessary  rules  that  have  been  laid  down 
in  preceding  chapters — and  above  all  things  be  interesting. 

18.  When  you  have  laid  out  your  story  in  continuity,  go  over  it  scene  by  scene, 
detail  by  detail,  assume  the  attitude  of  a  critic,  forgetting  for  the  time  that  you  are  the 
author.  Judge  It  as  you  would  the  work  of  a  stranger ;  test  it  for  any  possible  faults 
or  weaknesses.  It  is  better  that  you  find  them  than  that  they  fall  into  the  hands  of  a 
cold-blooded  scenario  editor.  Mend  the  faults,  strengthen  the  weaknesses;  if  there  is 
a  sequence  of  scenes  that  does  not  hold  the  interest  that  is  desirable,  lift  it  out  and  write 
a  new  sequence.    This  may  necessitate  the  entire  rebuilding  of  the  story  and  compel 

140 


you  to  write  a  new  continuity,  but  do  not  let  this  additional  work  stand  in  your  way. 
It  may  be  the  means  of  receiving  a  check  instead  of  a  rejection  slip. 

19.  When  you  are  satisfied  that  you  cannot  improve  the  story,  put  it  into 
synopsis  form,  as  directed  in  another  chapter,  and  send  it  to  the  company  that  you 
think  is  most  likely  to  buy  it,  or  preferably  to  the  Palmer  Photoplay  Sales  Depart- 
ment. 

20.  After  careful  and  detailed  visualization,  the  story  may  be  put  into  direct 
detailed  synopsis  form  without  spending  time  on  continuity,  if  so  desired. 

21.  If  the  same  advice  has  been  given  several  times  on  different  pages,  it  has 
been  done  in  order  to  avoid  any  possibility  of  it  being  overlooked  or  forgotten. 


HI 


PART  FIVE 


Appendix 


Criticism 

Photoplay  Sales  Department 

Copyright 

Rules  of  the  Board  of  Censors 

Snapshots 

Glossary  of  Terms 


143 


The  Efficient  Mind 


The  whole  aim  of  education  on  the  intellectual  side  should  be  to  develop  the  power 
of  clear  and  honest  thinking.  A  man  whose  mind  delivers  to  him  judgment  perverted  by 
passion  or  prejudice  has  an  inefficient  mind.  His  first  duty  is  one  of  mental  discipline. 
He  must  correct  his  mental  bias  and  make  his  mind  look  straight  into  the  heart  of  things. 
*  *  *  *  To  be  on  the  safe  side  a  man  seeking  to  increase  his  efficiency  should  assume  that 
his  mind  needs  all  the  training  that  he  can  possibly  give  it  *  *  *  *  let  him  think  as  he 
reads  and  so  discipline  his  mind  in  the  pursuit  of  truth.  No  man  is  too  old  to  take 
up  a  new  art  with  interest  and  no  man's  mind  is  so  fine  and  efficient  that  further  study 
and  discipline  will  not  improve  it.  The  man  who  lets  his  mind  lie  fallow  for  long 
intervals  will  often  fall  below  par  in  efficiency.  *  *  *  *  The  man  who  drifts  and 
lets  himself  slip  along  with  the  current  because  he  thus  is  spared  the  pain  of  willing 
and  of  overcoming  obstacles  never  reaches  a  harbor.  *  *  *  *  It  is  well  to  remember 
these  words  of  Bacon :  "A  man's  nature  runs  either  to  herbs  or  weeds,  therefore  let 
him  seasonably  water  the  one  and  destroy  the  other." 

— ^Joseph  French  Johnson. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

Criticism 

1.  Self-praise  and  the  lack  of  intelligent  criticism  are  responsible  for  a  large 
proportion  of  the  failures  of  would-be  photoplaywrights.  This,  of  course,  is  equally 
true  of  practically  any  line  of  effort.  Frequently,  when  occupying  the  position  of 
Scenario  Editor,  I  have  received  letters  accompanying  manuscripts  and  containing  the 
information  that  "all  my  friends  assure  me  that  this  is  a  wonderful  story,"  or  words 
to  that  effect,  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  story  was  weak  or  valueless. 

The  rejection  of  a  manuscript  under  such  circumstances  usually  gives  rise  to  accu- 
sations of  unfairness,  favoritism  or  incompetence ;  again,  even  though  the  author  never 
receives  any  such  false  praise  and  perhaps  never  shows  the  manuscript  in  question  to 
anyone  before  submitting  it  for  sale,  he  may  become  so  wrapped  up  in  the  idea  that 
he  fails  to  recognize  what  may  be  glaring  weaknesses.  If  he  could  receive  intelligent 
criticism  from  someone  thoroughly  capable  of  skillfully  analyzing  the  story  he  would 
be  enabled  to  revise  and  strengthen  it,  possibly  to  the  point  of  salability.  It  is  for 
that  reason  that  Palmer  Plan  members  are  urged  to  make  full  use  of  the  Advisory 
Bureau  service. 

2.  In  discussing  this  matter  with  Jeanie  MacPherson,  author  of  many  of  the 
big  successes  produced  by  Cecil  B.  DeMille,  she  said  to  me:  "The  dangerous  time  in 
the  study  of  photoplay  writing  is  that  following  closely  upon  the  reading  of  a  text- 
book, unless  the  individual  be  given  personal  guidance,  for  if  any  portion  of  the  text- 
book has  been  misconstrued,  the  student,  filled  with  self-confidence,  will  plunge  into 
a  series  of  radical  mistakes  and  errors  of  construction,  and  the  result  will,  of  course,  be 
failure  and  disappointment.  But,  if  the  work  done  by  the  student,  after  the  reading 
of  a  text-book,  is  carefully  and  skillfully  criticised  by  a  master  of  the  art  of  con- 
struction, whatever  mistakes  occur  may  be  immediately  pointed  out  and  corrected,  and 
the  way  will  be  cleared  of  many  serious  obstacles."  It  is  for  exactly  this  reason  that 
every  member  of  the  Palmer  Plan  should  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  use 
all  of  his  or  her  Advisory  Bureau  Coupons  and  study  the  criticisms  secured  through 
this  service  just  as  thoughtfully  and  minutely  as  the  Handbook  should  be  studied. 

3.  A  highly  instructive  volume  might  be  written  upon  the  subject  of  Painting, 
but  without  the  criticism  and  assistance  of  a  master  of  the  art  the  student  will  most 
likely  blunder  into  failure. 

4.  The  information  contained  in  the  Palmer  Plan  Handbook  is  the  result  of  my 
many  years'  experience  in  Motion-Picture  Studio  work,  but  in  criticising  the  stories 
submitted  by  our  members  we  almost  invariably  find  many  defects  to  be  remedied,  par- 
ticularly in  the  first  one  or  two  manuscripts  coming  from  each  individual.  If  we  did 
not  point  out  these  mistakes  and  offer  suggestions  for  revision,  most  of  these  stories 
would  be  hopeless,  and  the  author  would  blindly  wonder  why  he  was  not  turning 
out  salable  manuscripts. 

145 


5.  I  have  given  up  all  of  my  creative  vvriting  in  order  to  devote  my  entire  time 
and  mental  energy  to  this  work  of  criticism  and  I  do  not  want  any  Palmer  Plan  mem- 
ber to  deprive  himself  or  herself  of  this  opportunity.  The  effectiveness  of  this  system 
of  study  has  been  conclusively  proven  through  the  number  of  stories  that  we  have  sold 
for  our  members.  Therefore,  please  regard  your  book  of  Advisory  Bureau  Coupons 
as  an  invaluable  unit  of  the  Palmer  Plan  and  use  it  accordingly. 


i 


"J 


146 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

The  Photoplay  Sales  Department 

The  Photoplay  Sales  Department  of  the  Palmer  Photoplay  Corporation  is  the 
unit  that  links  the  individual  author  with  the  motion  picture  producers  of  the  world. 
Palmer  Plan  members  are  urged  not  to  submit  stories  to  the  studios,  but  rather  to 
allow  them  to  be  handled  by  this  department.  Under  these  circumstances  a  detailed 
explanation  of  the  process  of  marketing  a  manuscript  will  not  be  amiss. 

The  Palmer  Photoplay  Corporation  is  situated  in  Los  Angeles,  where  the  pro- 
duction of  a  large  percentage  of  all  the  motion  pictures  exhibited  throughout  the 
world  is  centered.  We  are  in  intimate  daily  contact  with  the  producers  and  are  thor- 
oughly familiar  with  their  needs.  Therefore,  we  are  in  a  position  to  immediately 
eliminate  stories  of  an  unsalable  nature  and  to  devote  every  effort  to  the  profitable 
disposal  of  each  story  for  which  a  market  exists. 

Under  the  personal  supervision  of  Mr.  Palmer,  a  small,  carefully  selected  and 
high-salaried  staff  of  experts  enter  into  daily  council,  during  which  stories  are  con- 
sidered and  discussed.  Those  which  are  selected  as  selling  prospects  are  immediately 
copied  onto  our  individual  manuscript  paper,  bound  in  a  uniform  cover,  bearing  the 
Palmer  stamp  of  approval,  and  the  original  manuscript  locked  in  our  files.  The 
specially  prepared  copy  is  then  submitted  to  the  producer  or  director  who  is  most 
likely  to  be  interested  in  such  a  subject,  by  a  trusted  representative.  This  submission 
is  accomplished  by  personal  interview  and  not  by  mail.  Thus  the  Palmer  Plan  mem- 
ber whose  story  is  found  to  contain  sufficient  merit  to  justify  the  stamp  of  approval 
enjoys  the  privilege  of  personal  representation  in  the  heart  of  the  studios.  Not  only 
this,  but  during  the  entire  transaction  the  story  receives  the  confidential  protection  of 
this  established  and  efficient  organization. 

The  full  privileges  of  this  Department  remain  open  to  Palmer  Plan  members 
indefinitely.  No  charge  is  made  for  this  service  until  a  story  is  sold,  at  which  time 
a  commission  is  deducted  and  the  remainder  of  the  selling  price  immediately  dispatched 
to  the  fortunate  author.  For  the  first  story  sold  a  commission  of  25%  is  withheld; 
and  for  each  succeeding  story  disposed  of  the  commission  is  reduced  to  15%.  Not  a 
day  passes  but  this  department  receives  calls  by  telephone  and  in  person  from  producers, 
directors  and  stars  who  are  in  search  of  new  stories  for  early  production.  It  would  be 
practically  impossible  for  an  individual  photoplaywright  to  gather  and  file  the  confi- 
dential information  which  lies  at  our  finger  tips,  and  which  enables  us  to  immediately 
direct  a  manuscript  to  its  definite  market  without  hesitation  or  guess-work,  for  in  the 
keen  competition  between  producing  companies  it  is  frequently  found  to  be  undesir- 
able to  announce  the  detailed  policy  of  future  productions.  For  this  reason  many  of 
the  studios  have  announced  that  they  will  seek  stories  from  selected  sources  only,  and 

147 


■;3 


the  Palmer  Photoplay  Sales  Department  is  a  selected  source  that  enjoys  the  full  con- 
fidence of  the  producers  and  photoplaywrights  of  the  world. 

Obviously  no  effort  will  be  spared  to  accomplish  the  sale  of  manuscripts  created 
by  members  of  the  Palmer  Plan,  for  every  such  sale  proves  the  efficacy  of  our  educa- 
tional methods  and  the  efficiency  of  our  Sales  Department  as  a  photoplay  clearing- 
house. 


''!■ 

I 


148 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
Copyright 

1.  It  is  impossible  to  copyright  an  unpublished  photoplay  manuscript.  The 
following  is  quoted  verbatim  from  circular  letter  No.  66,  covering  the  subject  of 
scenarios  and  issued  in  February,  1919,  by  the  copyright  office  of  the  Library  of  Con- 
gress at  Washington,  D.  C. 

2.  "The  amendment  to  the  copyright  law,  dated  August  24,  1912,  provides  for 
the  registration  of  claims  to  copyright  for  motion-picture  photoplays  and  motion  pic- 
tures other  than  photoplays.  These  designations  refer  to  the  complete  photographic 
films  from  which  the  motion  picture  is  exhibited,  and  there  is  no  method  provided  in 
the  copyright  law  for  securing  protection  for  unpublished  scenarios,  synopses  or  stories 
intended  to  be  developed  into  motion  pictures,  except  as  such  scenarios,  synopses  or 
stories  may  be  covered  by  the  copyright  secured  for  the  complete  motion  picture. 

3.  "So  long  as  such  scenarios  or  stories  remain  unpublished  they  are  protected 
under  the  common  law  without  copyright  registration,  like  other  published  works — 
novels,  histories,  poems,  etc.  This  protection  at  common  law  is  expressly  affirmed  in 
the  copyright  law  in  the  following  language : 

4.  "That  nothing  in  this  Act  shall  be  construed  to  annul  or  limit  the  right  of 
the  author  or  proprietor  of  an  unpublished  work,  at  common  law  or  in  equity,  to  pre- 
vent the  copying,  publication,  or  use  of  such  unpublished  work  without  his  consent 
and  to  obtain  damages  therefor."     (Section  2  of  the  Act  Approved  March  4,  1909.) 

5.  "If  a  story  for  a  motion  picture  (a  scenario)  has  been  printed  and  published, 
like  any  other  story  or  other  literary  work,  registration  of  copyright  may  be  secured 
by  proceeding  as  in  the  case  of  books.  After  printing  and  publishing  it  with  the  copy- 
right notice,  copies  may  be  deposited  for  the  purpose  of  registering  the  copyright  claim, 
as  explained  in  circular  No.  35.  Registration  for  an  unpublished  book  or  work  of 
this  character  cannot  be  made." 

6.  An  author  desirous  of  having  his  photoplay  manuscript  published  in  order  to 
obtain  a  copyright  may  do  so  at  a  reasonable  expense.  Any  printer  will  strike  off  a 
limited  number  of  copies  on  cheap  paper.  When  such  copies  are  obtained,  it  is  necessary 
to  submit  two,  together  with  a  registration  fee  of  $1.00,  to  the  copyright  office  of  the 
Library  of  Congress  at  Washington,  D.  C.  Before  doing  so,  however,  it  is  better  that 
the  applicant  send  for  application  blanks  and  complete  information,  which  may  be  ob- 
tained immediately  and  free  of  charge,  from  the  above  mentioned  address. 

7.  A  much  simpler  method  of  protection  is  contained  in  the  following  sound, 
simple  advice,  given  by  Frank  E.  Woods  of  the  Famous  PJaycrs-Lasky  Corporation, 
to  those  writers  who  are  fearful  lesf  their  scenarios  be  stolen:  "Keep  a  carbon  copy," 
he  says,  "seal  it  in  an  envelope,  put  the  correct  date  outside  the  envelope  and  get  some 

149 


friend  of  repute  to  testify  to  its  receipt  by  placing  his  name  on  the  envelope,  and  then 
get  him  to  place  it  in  his  safe,  or  put  it  in  your  safe  deposit  box.  This  will  be  evidence 
enough  if  the  story  is  wilfully  stolen." 

8.  Let  it  be  remembered,  however,  that  photoplay  producing  companies  do  not 
make  a  practice  of  stealing  stories,  therefore  a  copyright  or  the  method  mentioned 
by  Mr.  Woods  serves  rather  to  give  peace  of  mind  to  temperamental  or  over-sus- 
picious persons,  rather  than  to  be  of  any  practical  value. 


1 

I 


150 


I 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
Rules  of  the  Board  of  Censors 

The  National  Board  of  Review,  formerly  the  National  Board  of  Censorship,  was 
established  by  the  People's  Institute  of  New  York  in  March,  1909,  and  is  affiliated 
with  that  institution.  Its  membership  is  voluntary  and  it  is  self-governing  in  all  par- 
ticulars. No  member  passing  decisions  on  pictures  is  paid  directly  or  indirectly.  The 
Headquarters  of  the  National  Board  of  Review  is  located  at  70  Fifth  Avenue,  and 
information  may  be  obtained  by  addressing  the  corresponding  secretary  at  that  address. 

The  details  of  these  rulings  concern  the  author  much  less  than  the  director.  The 
whole  matter  may  be  summed  up  in  a  general  way  by  advising  the  writer  to  adhere  as 
closely  as  possible  to  clean,  wholesome  stories.  If,  however,  a  vital  dramatic  situation 
depends  upon  the  use  of  something  that  is  forbidden  by  the  Board  of  Censors,  the 
writer  would  better  include  the  doubtful  material  and  leave  the  matter  to  the  judg- 
ment of  the  producer  who  finally  considers  the  purchase  of  the  story. 

This  Chapter  is  presented  in  order  that  the  student's  information  may  be  com- 
plete and  should  not  in  any  manner  act  as  a  means  of  discouragement  or  hindrance. 
Exceptions  are  sometimes  made  to  practically  every  one  of  the  twenty-nine  standards, 
in  cases  where  the  dramatic  value  is  sufficiently  great  to  warrant  such  action.  A  brief 
summary  of  the  standards  of  the  National  Board  follows: 

No.  1.  Cases  Before  the  Court.  Pictures  which  would  tend  to  influence  public 
opinion  on  questions  of  fact  in  any  matter  that  is  before  the  court  for  adjudication  will 
not  be  passed. 

No.  2.  Comedy.  No  comedy  which  in  effect  holds  up  to  ridicule  any  religious 
sect,  religion  generally,  or  the  popular  characteristics  of  any  race  of  people,  should  be 
shown.  Those  which  use  as  a  basis  the  antics  of  a  sexual  degenerate  will  be  con- 
demned.   All  loose,  suggestive  comedy  "business"  between  the  sexes  is  warned  against. 

No.  3.  Farces,  Burlesque  and  Satires.  Same  principle  which  applies  to  comedy 
applies  equally  to  these  classes  of  films.  The  serious  relationships  of  life  should  not 
be  made  vulgar  and  indecent  in  photoplays  which  come  under  this  head.  The  National 
Board  realizes,  however,  that  satire  has  always  been  one  of  the  chief  sources  in  tearing 
away  the  conceits  and  hypocrisies  of  society ;  as  such  it  must  be  regarded  as  a  legitimate 
and  desirable  form  of  expression  in  the  motion  picture  drama. 

No.  4.  Struggle  and  Violence.  The  drama  necessarily  emphasizes  action  and 
movement,  including  struggle  and  deeds  of  violence.  This  is  particularly  necessary  in 
the  motion-picture  where  there  is  an  absence  of  dialogue.  Indeed,  the  spirit  of  struggle 
and  of  opposition  is  native  and  essential  to  man.  The  actual  encounter  of  men  in  a 
life  and  death  struggle  may  be  viev/ed  with  aversion.  It  has,  however,  no  inherent 
force  for  evil  if  it  is  fair  and  does  not  descend  to  excessive  trickery,  brutality  or  wanton 
cruelty.  Such  action  will  not  be  condemned  unless  it  is  shown  with  shocking  and  un- 
necessary detail.  The  National  Board  will  not  permit  the  rough  handling  of  women 
and  children,  the  aged  and  infirm,  or  cruelty  to  animals.  There  may  be  some  excep- 
tions where  the  life  depicted  is  tribal,  classic  or  pioneer. 

No.  5.  The  Senseless  Use  of  Weapons.  The  National  Board  decries  the  foolish 
and  exaggerated  use  of  weapons  such  as  guns,  revolvers,  knives,  clubs,  etc.,  but  leaves 

151 


the  matter  to  public  opinion  rather  than  regulation,  unless  the  action  depicted,  in 
addition  to  being  senseless,  is  also  immoral  and  criminal.  This  does  not  mean,  how- 
ever, that  the  use  of  such  weapons  is  prohibited.  In  the  logical  action  of  a  drama  or 
a  comedy  the  use  of  guns,  knives,  etc.,  is  frequently  necessary,  and  in  such  cases  the 
Board  of  Review  does  not  object. 

No.  6.  Treatment  of  Officers  of  the  Law  and  Respect  for  the  Law.  The 
National  Board  holds  that  respect  be  shown  for  the  law  in  action  and  in  thought.  It 
is  recognized,  however,  that  the  good-natured  fun  of  the  comedy  which  deals  with 
officers  of  the  law  is  not  regarded  as  an  attack  upon  such  officers  or  upon  the  organized 
forces  of  law  and  order.  The  thing  to  be  avoided  is  unnecessary  and  illogical  dis- 
respect for  the  law  or  officers  of  the  law. 

No.  7.  Advisability  of  Punishment  Following  Crime.  It  is  well  to  show  that 
evil  brings  its  own  punishment.  The  catastrophe  should  follow  necessarily  logically 
and  in  a  convincing  manner  and  not  merely  as  accidental  or  providential ;  nor  is  it 
satisfactory  to  terminate  a  series  of  crime  episodes  by  extensive  moralizing  at  the  end 
of  a  story.  This  is  recognized  as  poor  morals  and  poor  art.  It  is  preferable  to  have 
retribution  come  through  the  hands  of  authorized  officers  of  the  law,  rather  than 
through  revenge.  It  is  a  vicious  suggestion  to  permit  law  to  be  taken  into  one's  own 
hands. 

No.  8.  Crime  and  Its  Methods.  The  National  Board  has  no  objection  to  some 
specific  crimes.  It  will  not  attempt  to  eliminate  the  portrayal  of  all  evil  from  motion 
pictures.  The  serious  drama  almost  always  depicts  a  struggle  between  the  force  of 
good  on  the  one  hand  and  the  forces  of  evil  on  the  other.  To  eliminate  either  one  of 
these  elements  would  be  very  largely  to  eliminate  drama  itself.  Usually  the  forces 
of  evil  are  represented  by  a  villain  who  commits  crime  and  seeks  his  ends  through 
violence.  The  National  Board  objects  to  the  methods  of  crime  which  are  suggestive, 
instructive,  sustained  and  gruesome.  It  insists  upon  a  sane  balancing  of  the  picture 
as  a  whole  so  that  the  final  effect  of  the  picture  will  be  good,  or,  at  the  worst,  harm- 
less. The  portrayal  of  crime  should  not  degenerate  into  pandering  to  a  morbid  appe- 
tite, but  should  seek  ends  which  are  legitimate  for  the  drama. 

No.  9.  Serials.  Serials  with  a  succession  of  episodes  are  generally  melodramatic. 
Incidents  which  violate  the  general  standards  are  treated  individually.  While  such 
serials  in  detail  must  keep  within  the  recognized  ethical  standard  of  society,  the  tem- 
porary success  of  criminals  is  not  sufficient  for  condemnation.  Ingenious  methods  of 
crime,  cruelty,  etc.,  are  judged  by  general  standards. 

No.  10.  The  Motive  and  Results  of  Crimes.  An  adequate  motive  for  com- 
mitting a  crime  is  always  necessary.  The  National  Board  will  insist  upon  punishment 
of  the  criminal  when  his  crime  might  be  considered  by  the  young  and  impressionable 
spectators  as  an  excusable  or  praiseworthy  act.  In  other  cases  it  is  desirable  that  the 
criminal  be  punished  in  some  way,  but  the  National  Board  will  not  always  insist  upon 
this.  Careful  discrimination  must  be  made  between  the  merits  of  the  motive  and  the 
suggestion  lurking  in  it  as  an  excuse  for  the  crime.  The  results  of  the  crime  should 
be  in  the  long  run  disastrous  to  the  criminal  so  that  the  impression  carried  is  that  the 
crime  will  inevitably  find  one  out  soon  or  late  and  bring  on  a  catastrophe.  This  causes 
the  temporary  gain  from  the  crime  to  sink  into  insignificance.  The  result  should 
spring  logically  and  convincingly  from  the  crime  and  should  take  a  reasonable  propor- 
tion of  the  film. 

No.  11.  Crimes  of  Violence.  Crimes  of  violence  may  be  roughly  divided  into 
those  against  property  and  against  persons.  No  suggestively  instructive  or  ingenious 
methods  may  be  exploited.    These  include,  for  example,  the  ways  in  which  safes  may 

152 


be  opened,  checks  raised,  signatures  forged,  houses  entered,  pockets  picked,  etc.  These 
can  be  adequately  presented  by  suggestion  or  by  such  distant  views  that  it  is  impossible 
to  know  just  what  is  being  done.  Thus,  these  matters  lie  in  the  hands  of  the  directors 
rather  than  the  authors. 

A — Public  Property  and  Officials.  The  National  Board  will  comply  fully  with 
the  Naval  Defense  Act  of  June  3,  1916,  making  it  unlawful  for  any  person  wearing 
the  uniform  of  the  United  States  Army,  Navy  or  Marine  Corps  in  motion  picture  films 
while  actually  engaged  in  representing  therein  a  military  or  naval  character  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  bring  discredit  or  reproach  upon  the  United  States  Army,  Navy  or 
Marine  Corps.  It  is  equally  distasteful  to  present  oflficials  in  the  pursuit  of  their  official 
duties  in  a  misleading  and  disparaging  fashion.  Respect  for  law  and  order  calls  for  a 
dignified  and  sincere  presentation.  There  are  also  certain  symbols  of  Government, 
like  the  flag,  which  deserve  respect  and  careful  consideration.  Especially  dangerous  is 
the  presentation  of  any  attempt  at  train  wrecking  or  tampering  with  railroad  apparatus 
and  the  mails. 

B — Arson.  Excessive  preparations  and  the  actual  application  of  the  torch  are 
not  permitted  in  films  depicting  arson  taking  place  in  present-day,  modern  surround- 
ings. Exceptions  are  sometimes  made  in  pictures  dealing  with  disorganized  communi- 
ties. The  Board  has  constantly  ruled  against  arsons  which  are  used  to  cover  up  crime, 
or  in  which  human  beings  are  burned.  The  National  Board  never  permits  picturing 
arson  as  a  laudable  deed  under  any  circumstances,  nor  rarely  as  an  act  of  vengeance. 
The  tendency  of  the  board  is  to  eliminate  it  entirely. 

C — Brutality  and  Violence.  The  National  Board  condemns  action  in  which  the 
violence  is  that  of  a  maniac.  Indeed,  it  will  condemn  any  film  in  which  the  maniac  is 
the  leading  character  and  his  adventures  furnish  the  essentials  of  the  drama.  The 
motion  picture  visualizes  violence  for  us  and  presents  problems  which  the  newspaper 
does  not  have  to  encounter.  Therefore,  the  National  Board  feels  warranted  in  sup- 
pressing details  that  the  press  is  at  liberty  to  employ.  In  torture  scenes  it  is  suffi- 
cient to  show  that  torture  is  going  on  or  has  been  inflicted.  It  is  unnecessary  and  ob- 
jectionable to  show  just  what  the  torture  machine  is  doing  or  the  bodies  of  the  victims 
writhing  in  agony.  So,  also,  in  attacks  on  the  person  with  guns,  knives,  clubs,  etc.,  the 
action  should  be  indicated  rather  than  presented  in  detail.  Wanton  physical  attacks 
on  women,  children,  and  the  defenseless  are  to  be  kept  to  the  minimum. 

D — Suicide.  The  crime  of  suicide  is  one  that  is  so  suggestive  to  certain  people 
that  it  must  be  handled  carefully  by  the  producer.  Few  things  justify  such  an  irre- 
parable act.  Incentives  to  it  should  be  avoided.  The  National  Board  will,  however, 
consistently  pass  dramatic  suicides,  that  is,  suicides  which  are  virtually  necessary  to 
the  logical  development  of  the  drama,  and  not  introduced  merely  as  a  means  of  getting 
rid  of  a  character. 

E — Murder  and  Death.  Murder,  including  assassinations,  executions,  gang 
murders  and  murders  by  individuals,  must  be  handled  briefly  and  without  detail  and 
should  only  be  introduced  with  good  dramatic  cause.  Suggestion,  instruction  and 
horror  must  be  avoided.  These  include  repeated  stabbings,  mangled  bodies  and 
similar  portrayal.  They  are  always  eliminated.  Caution  must  be  employed  in  the  use 
of  poisons,  "knock-out-drops,"  chloroform,  sleeping  potions,  etc.,  and  just  enough  of 
such  scenes  is  permitted  to  make  the  exposition  clear. 

No.  12.  Truth  of  Representation  Not  Enough.  It  is  a  fallacy  to  assume  that 
certain  abnormal  characters  or  horrifying  situations  should  be  shown  simply  because 
they  are  a  part  of  life.  Consequently,  it  is  impracticable  to  accept  in  film  criticism 
the  statement  that  if  a  picture  be  a  true  representation  of  life  it  is  harmless  and  should 
be  passed. 

153 


No.  13.  The  Exploitation  of  Notorious  Characters.  The  National  Board  is 
inclined  to  condemn  the  exploitation  of  unworthy  reputations.  This  applies  to  the 
morbid  representation  of  persons  who  may  have  been  associated  with  famous  criminal 
cases. 

No.  14.  Insanity.  The  danger  in  a  production  introducing  an  insane  character 
is  that  the  portrayal  will  be  unduly  shocking,  morbid  or  gruesome.  Such  presenta- 
tions unduly  harass  the  emotions  of  the  normal  person  and  seldom  serve  a  real  dra- 
matic purpose.  The  National  Board,  therefore,  distinguishes  clearly  between  dra- 
matic purpose  and  the  morbid,  harrowing  or  gruesome.  The  tendency  is  distinctly 
against  this  type  of  picture  unless  some  adequate  serious  purpose  is  served  and  the 
objectionable  elements  are  reduced  to  a  minimum. 

No.  15.  The  Use  and  Effect  of  Habit-Forming  Drugs  and  Narcotics.  The 
National  Board  is  opposed  to  the  presentation  of  this  subject  in  an  alluring,  gruesome 
or  suggestive  manner.  It  will  support  those  subjects  presented  in  a  dignified,  sincere 
and  dramatic  way  which  will  enlighten  and  arouse  the  public  to  the  enactment  and 
enforcement  of  laws  tending  to  the  repression  or  prevention  of  illegal  or  immoral 
use  or  sale. 

No.  16.  Customs  J  Taste  and  Morals.  Many  deeds  depicted  in  motion  pictures 
are  sometimes  a  matter  of  custom,  sometimes  of  taste  and  sometimes  of  morals.  Each 
question  of  custom  or  taste  will  be  considered  on  the  basis  of  morals  by  the  National 
Board.  The  moral  light  in  which  such  a  deed  is  held  by  the  consensus  of  opinion  of 
the  community  or  nationality  where  the  deed  takes  place  will  determine  the  action  of 
the  Board.    The  constant  effort  is  towards  consistency  on  this  basis  of  determination. 

No.  17.  Sacrilege  and  Allied  Subjects.  The  general  principle  followed  by  the 
National  Board  is  that  those  things  which  shock  the  religious  sensibilities  of  large  and 
representative  portions  of  the  population  should  be  forbidden,  especially  if  the  presen- 
tation be  intentional.  This  does  not  mean  the  elimination  of  all  the  minor  things 
which  run  counter  to  the  religious  prejudices  of  a  portion  of  the  people.  It  applies 
to  those  things  which  actually  tend  to  weaken  the  religious  spirit,  to  profane  sacred 
things  or  bring  them  into  contempt  or  disrepute.  If  it  is  recognized  that  it  will  have 
an  injurious  effect  upon  the  audience,  such  a  thing  will  be  condemned. 

No.  18.  Bar  Rooms,  Drinking  and  Drunkenness.  It  is  recognized  that  these 
have  a  legitimate  place  in  the  motion  picture  drama.  The  objection  lies  in  the  pro- 
portion they  bear  to  other  scenes.  The  National  Board  will  condemn  drunkenness  as 
a  sustained  theme  of  amusement  in  comedy,  farce  or  burlesque.  The  public  has  ex- 
pressed its  distaste  for  the  undue  and  unnecessary  amount  of  drinking  shown  in  motion 
pictures.     Scenes  of  this  type  are  discouraged  by  the  National  Board. 

No.  19.  Vulgarity.  Those  pictures  are  defined  as  vulgar  which  contain  a  double 
meaning,  offend  against  the  sense  of  morality,  decency  and  propriety,  arouse  in  the 
onlooker  unclean,  suggestive  or  unsavory  thoughts,  portray  indecent  behavior,  violate 
the  ethical  sense  of  society,  deride  virtue,  or  break  down  the  moral  safeguards  of 
society.  The  National  Board  is  concerned  only  with  such  forms  of  vulgarity  as  are 
essentially  immoral. 

No.  20.  Prolonged  Passionate  Love  Scenes.  Those  scenes  which  are  ardent  be- 
yond the  strict  requirements  of  the  dramatic  situation  will  be  curtailed  by  the  National 
Board.  It  recognizes  the  difference  between  expressions  of  affection  and  those  of  sen- 
suality and  seriously  discusses  the  motives  for  the  introduction  of  scenes  of  this  latter 
type.    Those  experiences  which  are  wholesome,  truthful  and  artistic  will  be  approved. 

No.  21.    The  Betrayal  of  Innocence.     The  National   Board  holds  consistently 

154 


that  the  betrayal  of  innocence  with  its  social  consequences  and  its  harvest  of  illcgimate 
children  is  in  itself  tragic.  Themes  of  this  sort  must  be  handled  in  motion  pictures 
with  due  seriousness  and  sympathy. 

No.  22.  Costumes.  The  Board  rule  governing  this  subject  concerns  the  direc- 
tor and  producer  more  than  the  authors,  and  deals  largely  with  the  lavish  display  of 
lingerie  and  undergarments. 

No.  23.  Infidelity  and  Sex  Problem  Plays.  The  National  Board  docs  not  deny 
that  infidelity  and  sex  problem  plays  are  legitimate  subjects  for  motion  pictures,  but 
insists  that  they  be  treated  with  seriousness  and  reserve.  Where  it  is  necessary  to 
show  immoral  advances  between  the  sexes  these  should  be  indicated  rather  than  ex- 
posed in  detail.  The  various  separate  items  listed  under  this  head  concern  the  director 
and  producer  more  than  the  authors  and  are,  therefore,  omitted. 

No.  24.  Women  Smoking  and  Drinking.  Allowance  is  made  by  the  Board  for 
variations  of  custom  and  taste.  This  is  largely  a  matter  that  concerns  the  director 
and  producers. 

No.  25.  Scenes  of  the  Underworld — Opium  Joints,  Gambling,  Dance  Halls, 
Objectionable  Dancing,  Vulgar  Flirtations,  Questionable  Resorts.  When  these  are 
produced  it  should  be  in  such  a  manner  that  no  spectator  is  stimulated  to  frequent  them 
or  to  put  them  into  practice.  Permanent  profit  or  enjoyment  should  not  be  shown  as 
accompanying  characters  in  these  scenes.  Their  true  characters  as  being  innately  low, 
vulgar  and  indecent  should  be  brought  out,  together  with  the  inevitable  results  to 
which  they  lead.  Their  sordid  nature  must  be  kept  in  the  minds  of  the  spectators. 
The  scenes  themselves  must  have  dramatic  usefulness.  In  gambling  and  underworld 
scenes,  what  is  sought  is  the  atmosphere  of  the  place,  indication  of  the  development  of 
the  characters  or  certain  salient  facts. 

No.  26.  Nudity.  Since  January  first,  1917,  the  National  Board  has  consistently 
refused  to  pass  any  picture  containing,  incidentally  or  extensively,  the  female  nude 

picture. 

No.  27.  Films  Dealing  with  the  Social  Evil.  The  only  justification  for  the 
portrayal  of  the  social  evil  by  motion  pictures  is  that  they  shall  be  educational.  Educa- 
tion in  the  normal  and  abnormal  facts  of  sex  is  fraught  with  danger  and  must  be 
handled  with  tact  and  delicacy  and  must  also  be  given  under  the  right  surroundings 
to  be  effective.  Public  opinion  has  crystallized  into  well-defined  objection  to  the  pro- 
duction of  entertainment  films  dealing  with  "white  slavery."  No  picture  will  be 
passed  by  the  National  Board  which  is  concerned  wholly  with  the  commercialized 
theme  of  "white  slavery"  or  which  is  advertised  to  give  the  impression  that  it  is  a 
"white  slave"  picture.  This  action,  however,  does  not  apply  to  propaganda  pictures 
produced  obviously  for  social  betterment  and  exhibited  in  a  way  compatible  with  that 
purpose. 

No.  28.  Attitude  on  New  Themes.  New  themes  appear  constantly  in  the 
motion  picture.  Unless  they  are  recognizable  as  fundamentally  immoral,  they  will 
always  be  open  to  serious  discussion  or  to  a  submission  to  the  public  for  their  reaction. 
Until  there  is  well-defined  public  expression,  it  is  impossible  for  the  National  Board  to 
speak  with  authority.  Among  those  subjects  which  will  receive  critical  consideration 
are  birth  control,  abortion,  peace  and  preparedness  propaganda,  race  antagonism  and 
prenatal  influence.  Where  problems  are  complex,  the  advice  of  skilled  persons  will 
likely  be  sought.    In  each  case  decision  will  be  rendered  in  favor  of  the  theme  when  it 

155 


is  presented  with  sincerity,  skill,  freedom  from  suggestive  or  immoral  detail  and  front 
sordid  sensationalism. 

No.  29.  The  Future.  The  National  Board's  standards  are,  of  course,  progres- 
sive and  will  change  with  the  lapse  of  time ;  but  they  will  develop  along  the  lines  above 
indicated,  becoming  more  ideal  as  the  motion  picture  art  emerges  in  America  from  its 
present  condition  as  a  new  art.  Moreover,  the  increased  experience  of  the  producers, 
the  development  of  motion  picture  artists,  the  classification  of  the  theatres,  the  influence 
of  more  cultured  audiences  and  the  popular  adoption  of  motion  pictures  into  educa- 
tion, all  of  which  are  even  now  in  process,  will,  in  time,  bring  about  conditions  so 
diilerent  from  the  present  that  regulation  may  perhaps  not  be  necessary. 


156 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

Snap  Shots 

1.  Just  because  you  have  seen  weak,  inferior  lilm  productions,  do  not  submit  and 
expect  to  sell  scenarios  containing  that  grade  of  story.  'Ihe  speed  of  production,  to- 
gether with  a  shortage  of  good  material,  sometimes  necessitates  a  make-shift  and  un- 
satisfactory fihn.  But  the  kind  that  producers  are  seeking  and  are  willing  to  pay  a 
good  price  for  is  the  strong  story  with  a  new  idea,  or  with  a  new  twist  and  treatment 
of  an  old  idea.  Always  try  to  write  a  better  story  than  jou  have  ever  seen — you  may 
not  succeed,  but  in  aiming  high  you  will  at  least  hit  a  mark  above  the  average  of 
mediocrity. 

2.  Surround  your  stories  with  an  atmosphere  of  optimism.  This  does  not  mean 
that  your  stories  must  be  filled  with  laughs,  but  an  optimistic  note  in  the  general  ten- 
dency of  the  plot  is  better  than  gloom — and  more  salable.  If  you  fill  your  story  with 
too  great  an  element  of  "weeps"  the  scenario  editor  will  probably  send  you  a  rejection 
slip  to  weep  over. 

3.  Avoid  the  obvious.  It  is  the  uncertainty  of  what  the  morrow  is  to  bring 
forth  that  makes  life  interesting;  so  is  it  the  uncertainty  of  what  is  going  to  happen 
next  in  a  photoplay  that  holds  the  interest  of  the  audience. 

4.  The  broader  your  field  of  e.xperience,  the  keener  your  observation  of  human 
nature  and  the  greater  your  knowledge  of  life  itself,  the  greater  will  be  your  source  of 
supply  of  raw  material  for  creative  scenario  work.  Travel  is  of  value  to  the  discern- 
ing thinker,  but  philosophy  and  analytical  observation  of  the  everyday  life  about  you 
are  of  inestimably  greater  value  than  a  lifetime  of  travel. 

5.  The  difference  between  mediocrity  and  success  is  marked  by  a  fine  line 
which  may  crossed  only  through  the  aid  of  hard  work  and  painstaking  attention  to 
detail.     "Inspiration  is  mental  perspiration — genius  the  habit  of  hard  work." 

6.  Do  not  depend  too  much  upon  the  word  of  friends  or  relatives  as  to  the 
merits  of  your  story — they  may  not  wish  to  hurt  your  feelings  by  honest  criticism ; 
on  the  other  hand  they  may  not  realize  the  value  that  actually  exists.  Accept  all  of 
their  praise  or  criticism — then  use  your  own  judgment. 

7.  Keep  a  record,  a  small  card  index  or  a  book  of  the  stories  that  you  send  out. 
In  this  way  you  will  avoid  sending  a  story  twice  to  the  same  company.  Don't  send 
it  to  any  company  until  you  feel  that  it  is  the  best  that  you  can  do. 

8.  Do  not  be  discouraged.  If  a  story  comes  back  with  a  rejection  slip  enclosed, 
go  over  it  carefully,  try  to  improve  it,  then  send  a  fresh  copy  out  to  some  other  com- 
pany. Keep  at  it !  The  sale  of  one  story  Is  worth  the  rejection  of  a  dozen.  As  you 
progress  fewer  will  come  back,  and  the  work  will  have  been  excellent  practice  and 
training  for  your  future  writing  activities. 

9.  Be  sure  that  there  is  a  motive  for  every  act  that  your  characters  perform. 

10.  Take  plenty  of  time.  When  you  have  finished  a  story,  lay  it  aside  for  a 
few  days,  then  look  it  over.  You  may  find  a  weakness  that  you  entirely  overlooked  in 
the  first  enthusiasm  of  creation. 

157 


11.  Keep  a  note-book  for  ideas  and  suggestions.  Ideas  are  elusive  and  you 
cannot  safely  depend  upon  your  memory.  Lay  in  a  reserve  stock  of  situations,  inci- 
dents and  possible  plots.  Always  be  alert  for  new  ideas  and  new  twists  to  old  ones — 
such  material  is  your  stock  in  trade;  do  not  let  anything  slip  by.  If  you  think  of  some- 
thing in  the  night  get  up  and  write  it  down,  even  if  you  do  kick  the  sharp  end  of  a 
rocking  chair  before  you  find  the  light. 

12.  The  first  requirement  of  the  city-room  of  a  newspaper,  as  the  young  man 
that  steps  into  the  neophytic  position  of  "cub  reporter"  immediately  learns,  is  a 
"nose  for  news."  The  primary  and  indispensable  essential  with  which  the  embryonic 
scenario  writer  must  saturate  himself  is  a  knowledge  of  dramatic  and  screen  values — 
a  "camera  eye."  Visualize  everything  as  it  will  appear  before  the  camera,  or  on  the 
screen.     Make  this  a  habit  and  persist  in  it. 

13.  Study  the  needs  of  producing  companies  by  viewing  their  latest  pictures  and 
by  keeping  in  touch  with  their  announcements  in  the  trade  journals.  Such  information 
is  a  necessary  part  of  your  equipment,  if  you  intend  to  succeed  as  a  scenario  writer. 

14.  Do  not  start  to  write  a  story  until  you  have  something  to  write  about; 
then  be  sure  that  you  are  familiar  with  the  subject  and  its  locale. 

15.  Deal  in  heart  throbs;  choose  big  moments  from  real  life  for  your  situations 
and  climaxes.  "The  Old  Homestead"  and  "Shore  Acres"  survived  hundreds  of 
plays  that  at  the  time  were  considered  cleverer,  but  which  lacked  heart  interest. 

16.  Do  not  endeavor  to  give  technical  instructions  in  the  synopsis  that  you  sub- 
mit to  a  producing  company.  Merely  tell  your  story  clearly  and  briefly  and  leave  the 
technicalities  to  the  director  and  continuity  writer. 

17.  Cultivate  the  habit  of  visualization  and,  in  evolving  a  story,  visualize  action. 
This,  tempered  with  imagination  and  good  judgment,  will  carry  j'ou  to  eventual  suc- 
cess. 

18.  Do  not  intrude  extraneous  action  or  introduce  characters  and  then  drop 
them.    Keep  your  story  knitted  together  and  work  toward  a  definite  conclusion. 

19.  In  viewing  photoplays,  always  watch  the  audience  and  determine  the  effect 
that  the  picture  has  as  a  whole.  The  audience  is  the  final  critic  and  it  is  the  opinion 
of  the  spectator  that  must  be  followed  by  writer  and  producer  alike. 

20.  If  you  are  obsessed  by  a  warped  view  of  life  you  cannot  win  permanent 
success  as  a  scenario  writer.  The  public  will  not  accept  distorted  philosophy,  even  as 
a  means  of  amusement.  Keep  a  wholesome  attitude  toward  life  and  your  fellow  men ; 
be  an  optimist ;  seek  a  happy  ending  to  your  stories. 

21.  Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction,  but  truth  is  not  always  dramatic.  To  be 
successful,  a  photoplay  must  be  possessed  of  dramatic  elements.  A  true  story  may 
suggest  a  basic  theme,  but  in  most  cases  it  needs  the  help  of  a  trained  imagination  to 
make  it  interesting. 

22.  The  free  lance  writer  has  many  advantages  over  the  staff-writer,  who  is 
employed  in  a  studio.  The  latter  frequently  is  inclined  to  becorre  a  technician  to  the 
exclusion  of  living,  pulsing  ideas  from  real  life. 

23.  In  constructing  a  story  always  work  in;  do  not  diverge  and  work  out,  pick- 
ing up  too  many  threads  and  interests.  Avoid  a  too  elaborate  story;  work  along  a 
single  idea,  but  be  sure  that  it  is  strong  and  vital. 

24.  Never  graduate  from  the  study  of  construction.  There  is  alwaj's  something 
to  be  learned.  Such  men  as  Cecil  B.  DeMille  and  D.  W.  Griffith,  heralded  as  mas- 
ters of  their  art,  constantly  study  to  improve  and  advance.  The  true  artist  is  never 
quite  satisfied  with  his  work  or  with  the  bulk  of  his  store  of  knowledge. 

25.  Remember  that  there  are  scores  of  producers  waiting  for  your  story,  if  it 
has  merit.  Work  and  study  to  be  one  of  the  elect.  There  is  no  greater  opportunity 
for  success  and  fortune  than  lies  before  you  in  the  scenario  writing  field. 

158 


26.  Apply  all  your  reading  to  the  improvement  of  your  work  as  a  creative 
writer  of  photoplays.  Never  read  with  a  lazy  mind — analyze  and  apply  to  your  work 
the  philosophy  tliat  you  absorb. 

27.  Submit  nothing  but  clean,  neat  and  correctly  prepared  scenarios.  Pay 
attention  to  all  the  details  mentioned  in  preceding  pages.  Careless  preparation  has 
caused  the  rejection  of  many  good  ideas. 

28.  When  you  have  finished  a  story,  spend  whatever  time  is  necessary  in  choos- 
ing a  good  main-title.  This  will  help  to  gain  the  attention  of  the  scenario  editor  who 
reads  your  story. 

29.  Read  the  chapter  on  Visualization  many  times  and  put  its  suggestions  into 
practice,  making  it  a  daily  habit.  Add  tests  of  your  own  and  cultivate  its  use  until  it 
becomes  a  sixth  sense.    It  will  be  worth  all  the  time  spent. 

30.  Be  a  dreamer,  but  be  a  practical  dreamer.  Harness  your  dreams,  break 
them  under  the  saddle  of  logic  and  analysis ;  be  their  master  at  all  times. 

31.  "Seventy-five  per  cent  of  all  dramatic  literature  has  been  based  upon  the 
love  of  two  men  for  one  woman,  or  vice  versa,  which  would  seem  to  amply  substan- 
tiate the  contention  that  it  is  to  treatment,  rather  than  basic  theme,  that  the  dramatist 
should  apply  himself.  This  is  not  an  original  contention,  but  it  is  one  which  all  photo- 
play text-book  authors  seem  to  have  lost  sight  of." — J.  Arthur  Nelson  in  "The 
Photoplay." 

32.  It  is  unnecessary  to  accompany  your  manuscript  with  a  letter  to  the  editor. 
He  is  too  busy  reading  stories  to  spend  time  in  reading  letters.  Your  name  and  ad- 
dress on  the  manuscript  is  all  the  information  that  he  needs. 

33.  Do  not  fail  to  enclose  the  full  amount  of  return  postage.  If  your  story  is 
purchased  you  will  not  miss  the  few  cents  thus  invested;  if  it  is  rejected,  the  editor 
has  done  enough  for  you  in  reading  your  manuscript  without  being  called  upon  to 
pay  for  its  return  to  you. 

34.  "There  were,  according  to  the  last  census,  9,795,230,492  original  combina- 
tions of  dramatic  situations  still  overlooked  by  motion  picture  producers.  Gentlemen 
— take  your  choice." — Eustace  Hale  Ball  in  "Photoplay  Scenarios." 

35.  "There  are  upwards  to  ten  thousand  picture-plays  produced  every  year  in 
the  various  studios,  and  a  fair  average  of  these  are  shown  to  about  twenty  millions  of 
spectators  of  all  classes  and  nations  before  they  are  finally  put  on  the  shelf.  This  cer- 
tainly should  be  sufficient  stimulus  and  inspiration  to  the  ambitious  writer." — James 
Slevin  in  "Picture-Play  Writing." 

36.  (The  above  quotation  Is  from  a  book  published  in  1912.  The  figures  are 
much  larger  today.) 


159 


CHAPTER  XXX 

Glossary  of  Terms 

1.  NOTE:  These  definitions  in  some  instances  differ  from  the  common  usage 
of  the  terms  involved,  the  meaning  herewith  given  being  that  prevalent  in  studio  par- 
lance : 

2.  ACTION:  The  connected  series  of  events  forming  a  photoplay;  the  un- 
folding of  the  story ;  the  various  actions  of  individual  characters  whereby  the  story  is 

advanced. 

3.  ANGLE-SHOT:  Another  view  of  a  continuous  scene  taken  from  a  differ- 
ent angle. 

4.  BRIEF  SYNOPSIS:  The  synopsis  of  a  scenario  reduced  to  the  briefest 
telling  of  the  stor>'. 

5.  BUSINESS:  A  definite  bit  of  action.  "Business  of  climbing  a  ladder" 
would  indicate  that  a  character  referred  to  would  climb  a  ladder  at  a  point  thus 
designated  in  a  scenario. 

6.  BUST:    An  obsolete  term  for  close-up. 

7.  CAPTION:     A  synonym  of  sub-title,  seldom  used. 

8.  CAST:     An  abbreviation  of  cast  of  characters. 

9.  CAST  OF  CHARACTERS:  An  itemized  list  of  the  characters  ap- 
pearing in  a  photoplay. 

10.  CHARACTERS:  The  various  fictitious  persons  who  take  part  in  a  pho- 
toplay story. 

11.  CINEMATOGRAPHER:  The  expert  photographer  who  operates  a 
motion  picture  camera. 

12.  CLIMAX:  The  height  of  upward  movement  in  the  action;  the  supreme 
moment  in  a  photoplay ;  the  inclusive  point  toward  which  all  the  action  has  been 
directed. 

13.  CLOSE-UP:  A  scene  photographed  with  the  camera  close  to  the  action; 
a  close  view. 

14.  CONFLICT:  A  strife  for  mastery;  hostile  contest  or  encounter;  compe- 
tition or  opposing  action  of  incompatibles ;  antagonism  as  to  divergent  interest.  Used 
in  the  same  sense  as  struggle. 

15.  CONTINUITY:  The  uninterrupted  succession  of  scenes,  sub-titles  and 
inserts  as  they  are  to  be  directed,  acted  and  photographed. 

16.  CONTINUOUS  ACTION:  A  scene  taking  place  in  a  single  location 
between  the  same  characters,  or  in  a  series  of  locations  in  which  the  action  of  the 
characters  is  followed  without  interruption  other  than  short  cut-backs  to  break  the 
scene.  This  requires  skillful  handling  in  order  to  sustain  interest  and  keep  the  action 
confined  to  the  central  characters. 

17.  CRANK:     A  studio  term  meaning  to  photograph.     (See  shoot.) 

160 


18.  CRANKING:     A  studio  term  for  photographing  derived  from  the  act  of 
the  cinematographer  turning  the  camera  crank. 

19.  CRANK-SPEED;    Used  to  indicate  the  speed  at  which  the  picture  should 

be  photographed  to  regulate  action. 

20.  CRISIS:    A  critical  moment  in  the  development  of  a  story,  not  as  impor- 
tant as  the  clima.x. 

21.  CUT-BACK:    The  return  to  a  scene  after  showing  interpolated  scenes  of 
related  action. 

22.  DESCRIPTIVE-TITLE:  A  sub-title  used  to  describe  that  which  is  not 
shown  in  action  or  to  cover  a  lapse  of  time. 

23.  DIRECTOR:     One  who  directs  the  production  of  a  photoplay. 

24.  DISCOVER:  A  term  used  to  designate  that  a  character  is  already  on  a 
scene  when  it  appears  on  the  screen. 

25.  DISSOLVE;    To  dissolve,  or  blend,  one  scene  gradually  into  another. 

26.  DOUBLE  EXPOSURE:  A  scene  produced  by  twice  exposing  the  nega- 
tive or  by  printing  a  positive  from  t^vo  overlapped  negatives. 

27.  DRAMATIC  TRIAD:  A  union  or  group  of  three  characters  or  groups 
of  characters  closely  related  in  the  action  of  a  photoplay. 

28.  DREAM  PICTURE:  A  photoplay  of  an  improbable  nature  finally  ex- 
plained as  being  a  dream. 

29.  ENTER:  A  term  used  to  designate  the  entrance  of  a  character  into  a 
scene. 

30.  EPISODE:    A  section  of  a  serial  photoplay,  usually  consisting  of  two  reels. 

31.  ESTABLISH:  To  make  known  the  relationship  of  a  character  to  other 
characters,  or  to  his  environment,  or  to  make  known  his  identiti,'  and  t^'pe. 

32.  EXIT:    A  term  used  to  designate  a  character  leaving  a  scene. 

33.  EXPLANATORY-TITLE;  A  sub-title  used  to  explain  that  which  is 
not  made  sufficiently  clear  in  action. 

34.  EXTERIOR;    A  scene  in  which  the  action  take  snlace  nut  of  doors. 

35.  EXTRAS;  (Extra  men  or  women.)  Actors  of  minor  parts  who  are  en- 
gaged by  the  day. 

36.  FACTION;  A  distinct  character  or  set  of  characters  acting  in  opposition 
to  other  characters  or  sets  of  characters;  the  three  characters  or  sets  of  characters  in  a 
dramatic  triad  are  known  as  "factions"  in  photoplay  phraseology. 

37.  FADE-IN:    A  gradual  appearance  of  a  scene  upon  the  screen. 

38.  FADE-OUT;    A  gradual  disappearance  of  a  scene  from  the  screen. 

39.  FAKING:  Making  the  unreal  appear  real:  mechanical  or  camera  devices 
employed  to  produce  results  that  appear  to  an  audience  startling  and  impossible. 

40.  FARCE:  Comedy  in  which  great  latitude  is  allowed  as  to  probability  of 
happenings  and  naturalness  of  characters. 

41.  FILM;  The  strip  of  celluloid  coated  with  photographic  emulsion  and  used 
in  motion  picture  photography. 

42.  FILMING:     Producing;  filming  a  play  is  studio  vernacular  for  producing. 

43.  FLASH :  The  appearance  of  a  scene  or  fragment  of  a  scene  on  the  screen 
for  a  brief  moment. 

44.  FRAME;     Each  single  picture  on  a  film. 

45.  FREE-LANCE ;  A  writer  who  is  free  to  submit  his  work  generally  and  is 
not  in  the  pav  of  any  one  company. 

46.  INSERT:  Any  still  matter  other  than  a  sub-title  inserted  in  a  film,  such 
as  the  reproduction  of  letters,  newspapers,  telegrams,  bottle-labels,  small  objects,  etc. 

161 


47.  INTERIOR:  A  scene  in  which  the  action  takes  place  indoors.  (Most 
interiors  are  photographed  in  sets  constructed  on  open-air  stages.) 

48.  INTRODUCTORY-TITLE:    A  sub-title  used  to  introduce  a  character. 

49.  IRIS:    The  adjustable  diaphragm  for  regulating  the  aperture  of  a  lens. 

50.  IRIS-IN:    The  act  of  opening  the  iris  on  a  scene. 

51.  IRIS  OUT:    The  act  of  closing  the  iris  on  a  scene. 

52.  LABORATORY:  A  department  of  a  studio  devoted  to  the  process  of 
developing  negative,  printing  positive,  etc. 

53.  LEAD :    A  leading  character  in  a  photoplay,  either  male  or  female. 

54.  LEADER:  A  sub-title.  (This  term  is  practically  obsolete,  sub-title  hav- 
ing replaced  it.) 

55.  LIGHTING:  Generally  used  to  designate  tinting,  as  for  moonlight  ef- 
fects, shadow  effects  or  strong  lights  on  a  situation  to  be  emphasized. 

56.  LIGHT  STUDIO :  An  enclosed  studio  equipped  with  glass  sides  and 
roof  or  with  artificial  lighting  systems  for  photographic  purposes. 

57.  LOCALE:  The  locality,  surroundings  or  environments  in  which  a  pho- 
toplay or  separate  sequence  of  scenes  is  laid. 

58.  LOCATION:    Any  place  outside  a  studio  where  a  scene  is  photographed. 

59.  LOCATION  LIST:  An  itemized  list  of  locations  to  be  used  in  the  pro- 
duction of  a  photoplay,  appended  to  a  working  script. 

60.  LONG-SHOT:  A  scene  photographed  with  the  camera  at  a  distance 
from  the  action ;  a  full  view. 

61.  MAIN-TITLE:     The  name  of  the  story  as  a  whole. 

62.  MANUSCRIPT:  A  scenario  in  typewritten  form,  inclusive  of  all  of  its 
various  parts. 

63.  MAT:  (Keyhole  mat — binocular  mat,  etc.)  A  plate  with  an  opening  of 
a  peculiar  shape  to  fit  over  the  lens.  A  keyhole,  for  instance,  through  which  a  scene  is 
photographed  to  give  the  appearance  of  being  viewed  through  a  keyhole. 

64.  MENTAL  "PUNCH":     Dramatic  value  in  thought. 

65.  MULTIPLE  REEL  OR  MULTIREEL:  A  plotoplay,  consisting  of 
more  than  one  reel,  but  usually  referring  to  a  photoplay  of  greater  length  than  five 
reels. 

66.  NEGATIVE:  The  raw  film  used  in  motion  picture  photography.  After 
the  negative  has  been  exposed  in  the  camera,  it  is  developed  and  from  this  the  positive 
is  printed. 

67.  PAN  OR  PANORAM:  A  contraction  of  panorama  or  panoramic; 
moving  the  camera  up  and  down,  or  from  side  to  side  to  follow  the  action  from  one 
place  to  another. 

68.  PHOTO-DRAMATIST:     One  who  creates  photo  dramas. 

69.  PHOTOPLAY:    A  story  told  in  pictured  action  instead  of  words. 

70.  PHYSICAL  "PUNCH":     Dramatic  value  in  situations. 

71.  PLOT:  The  elaboration  of  an  idea  or  theme,  showing  cause,  effect  and 
sequence.     (See  Theme.) 

72.  POSITIVE:  The  film  printed  from  the  negative  and  used  in  the  pro- 
jection of  motion  pictures. 

73.  PRINCIPALS:  The  actors  or  actresses  who  play  the  principal  parts  in  a 
photoplay. 

74.  PRODUCER:  One  who  produces  pictures.  The  director  is  in  charge 
of  the  actual  direction  of  the  action  of  a  photoplay,  while  the  producer  usually  super- 
intends the  work  of  one  or  more  directors  and  frequently  is  the  financial  head  of  a 
company. 

75.  PROJECTING  MACHINE:  A  machine  used  in  motion  picture  thea- 
tres for  projecting  the  picture  to  the  screen. 

76.  PROJECTION:  The  act  of  throwing  a  motion  picture  on  the  screen. 
(See  screen.) 

162 


77.  PROPS:  An  abbreviation  of  properties;  the  various  articles  or  objects 
used  in  producing  a  photoplay. 

78.  PROP.  LIST:    An  abbreviation  of  property  plot. 

79.  PROPERTY-PLOT:  An  itemized  list  of  the  objects  and  articles  used 
in  the  production  of  a  photoplay. 

80.  READER:  One  employed  to  assist  a  scenario  editor  in  reading  submitted 
manuscripts. 

81.  REEL:  The  metal  container  upon  which  film  is  wound;  the  standard 
unit  used  in  measuring  photoplay  films,  aggregating  one  thousand  feet. 

82.  REGISTER:  To  indicate  or  record.  An  actor  registers  "hatred"  or 
other  emotions  in  a  scene. 

83.  RELEASE  DATE:  A  previously  arranged  date  upon  which  a  photoplay 
is  released  for  exhibition  throughout  the  country. 

84.  RELEASE  TITLE:  The  main-title  finally  chosen  for  a  photoplay  when 
it  is  completed  and  ready  to  be  released.     (See  working  title.) 

85.  RELIEF:  A  bit  of  comedy  or  light  dramatic  action  interpolated  in  or 
following  a  heavy  dramatic  scene  to  relieve  the  dramatic  tension. 

86.  RETAKE :  Photographing  a  scene  a  second  time  on  account  of  some 
defect  in  the  first. 

87.  RETROSPECT:  To  revert  to  previous  action.  As  for  instance,  a  char- 
acter is  relating  to  a  policeman  the  details  of  a  robbery  in  which  the  character  figured. 
The  action  is  dissolved  from  the  scene  of  the  character  talking  to  the  policeman,  to 
the  scene  of  the  robbery  and  then  dissolved  back  to  the  character  finishing  his  narra- 
tive.   The  scene  of  the  robbery  may  or  may  not  have  been  previously  depicted. 

88.  SCENARIO:  The  outline  of  a  photoplay.  Indicating  the  scenes  and  the 
entrances,  action  and  exists  of  the  actors,  together  with  sub-titles  and  inserts. 

89.  SCENARIO  EDITOR:  A  person  employed  by  a  producing  company  to 
read  submitted  manuscripts  and  select  therefrom  those  suitable  for  production. 

90.  SCENE:  The  action  in  a  photoplay  that  is  taken  without  stopping  the 
camera.    A  complete  photoplay  consists  of  a  series  of  such  scenes. 

91.  SCENE-PLOT:  The  itemized  layout  of  scenes  for  the  convenience  and 
guidance  of  a  director. 

92.  SCREEN:    The  plain  surface  on  which  a  photoplay  is  projected. 

93.  SCRIPT:     An  abbreviation  of  manuscript. 

94.  SEMI-CLOSE-UP:  A  scene  photographed  with  the  camera  a  little  fur- 
ther distant  than  in  a  close-up,  but  closer  than  a  long-shot. 

95.  SEQUENCE:  A  connected  or  related  succession  of  events;  a  connected 
series  of  incidents. 

96.  SETS:     All  interior  locations  are  indicated  as  sets. 

97.  SHOOT:     A  studio  term  meaning  to  photograph.     (See  crank.) 

98.  SILHOUETTE:    A  figure  or  figures  shown  dimly  to  heighten  an  efFect. 

99.  SITUATION:  A  temporarily  unpleasant,  unfortunate,  trying  or  in- 
volved relation  of  affairs  at  a  moment  of  action;  a  predicament. 

100.  SLOW-CRANKINC:  Cranking  the  camera  slower  than  the  usual 
speed  in  order  that  the  action  may  be  accelerated  when  the  picture  is  projected  at  the 
regular  speed.  Frequently  used  in  comedy  chases,  etc.  Cranking  eight,  cranking 
twelve,  etc.,  means  to  expose  that  number  of  frames  per  second  instead  of  the  usual 
sixteen  frames  per  second,  which  is  regulation  speed.  To  slow  this,  operation  is 
reversed. 

1<3 


101.  SPECTACLE:  A  photoplay  of  a  spectacular  nature,  such  as  "Intoler- 
ance." 

102.  SPLIT-REEL:  A  one  thousand-foot  reel  containing  more  than  one 
subject.     This  usually  refers  to  a  five-hundred-foot  story  and  is  practically  obsolete. 

103.  SPOKEN-TITLE:  A  sub-title  used  to  interpret  that  which  is  spoken 
by  a  character  in  a  photoplay. 

104.  STAFF-WRITER:  A  scenario  writer  engaged  by  a  producing  company 
at  a  regular  salary. 

105.  STILL:  A  photograph  made  with  an  ordinary  camera,  showing  a  scene 
or  characters  from  a  photoplay,  usually  used  for  advertising  purposes. 

106.  STRUGGLE:  To  put  forth  great  eflorts;  to  strive,  to  contend,  as  one 
chaiacter  or  faction  strives  against  and  contends  with  another. 

107.  STUDIO:     A  headquarters  where  photoplays  are  made. 

108.  STUNTS:  Effects  out  of  the  ordinary,  trick  camera  work,  hazardous 
action  in  comedy  or  drama. 

109.  SUB-TITLE:  A  word,  phrase  or  sentence  appearing  on  the  screen  dur- 
ing the  projection  of  a  photoplay. 

110.  SUSPENSE:  The  quality  of  uncertainty,  anxiety  or  expectation  aroused 
by  a  sequence  of  scenes. 

111.  SWITCH-BACK:     Same  as  cut-back. 

112.  SYNOPSIS:  The  general  view  of  a  story;  an  abstract  or  summary; 
narrative. 

113.  TECHNIQUE:  The  definitely  established  and  skillful  system  of  pro- 
cedure by  which  an  idea  is  expressed  in  proper  form. 

114.  TELESCOPIC  LENS:  A  lens  used  for  telescopic  or  long  distance  pho- 
tography. 

115.  THEME:  The  motive  or  subject;  the  thread  of  the  story;  the  central 
idea.     (See  plot.) 

116.  THRILLS:  Startling  or  intensely  dramatic  action;  spectacular,  fre- 
quently dangerous  and  often  unexpected. 

117.  TIME  ELAPSE:  Accounting  for  the  time  intervening  between  scenes 
indicated  by  a  sub-title  or  a  fade-out  or  both. 

118.  TINTING:  The  process  of  chemically  dyeing  positive  films  to  produce 
special  effects,  such  as  twilight,  night,  moonlight.     (See  lighting.) 

1 1 9.  TRUCK-BACK :  The  act  of  moving  the  camera  back  from  action  as  it  is 
being  photographed. 

120.  TRUCK-UP:  The  act  of  moving  the  camera,  on  a  smooth  surface  only, 
toward  action  as  it  is  being  photographed. 

121.  VIGNETTE:  A  close-up  of  an  article  or  countenance  generally  used 
in  lieu  of  a  masked  photograph. 

122.  VISION:  A  scene  within  a  scene  produced  by  double  exposure  and  used 
to  convey  to  the  audience  the  thoughts  of  a  character. 

123.  VISUALIZATION:  The  act  or  power  of  forming  visual  images  or 
mental  representations  of  objects  not  present  to  the  sense. 

124.  WIDE-ANGLE  LENS:  A  lens  covering  an  angle  wider  than  the  ordi- 
nary. Lenses  for  ordinary  purposes  have  an  angle  of  50  per  cent  or  less.  Wide- 
angle  lenses  may  cover  as  much  as  100  per  cent,  and  are  useful  for  photographing  at 
short  range. 

164 


125.  WORKING  SCRIPT:  The  scenario  in  tabloid  form,  including  loca- 
tions, general  "business,"  entrances  and  exits  and  the  mechanical  evolution  of  the 
story. 

126.  WORKING  TITLE:  The  main  title  used  for  purposes  of  convenience 
and  record  during  the  production  of  a  photoplay.  The  working  title  is  usually  suc- 
ceeded by  a  more  carefully  chosen  main  title  after  the  photoplay  is  completed.  (See 
release  title.) 


ABBREVIATIONS 


Exterior — Ext. 
Interior — Int. 
Background — B.G. 
Foreground — F.G. 
Middleground — M.G. 
Discovered — Disc. 
Panorama — Pan. 
Manuscript — Mss.,  or  Script. 
Business — Bus. 
Close-up — C.U. 
Enter — Ent. 
Exit — Ex. 
Properties — Props. 


US 


UMVERSITY  OF  CAUFOfU^  UBRARY 
Los  Aogcla       * 
This  book  u  DUE  on  the  last  datestanped  below. 


REC 

JUN  0  1  1991^ 
ARTLIBRAFY 


315 


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